SYDNEY  GRUNDY: 

A STUDY  OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  WORK  IN  RELATION  TO 

MODERN  DRAMA 


BY 


MARY  MARCELLA  WHETSLER 
A.  B.  Rockford  College,  1920 


THESIS 

Submitted  in  Partial  Fulfillment  of  the  Requirements  for  the 


Degree  of 


MASTER  OF  ARTS 


IN 


THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


1921 


\*5t\ 

3^1 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


THE  GRADUATE  SCHOOL 


"b) 


19JLL 


I HEREBY  RECOMMEND  THAT  THE  THESIS  PREPARED  UNDER  MY 

.odJLa.  Jfif.hvhslvi-. 


SUPERVISION  BY. 


ENTITLED (^Aaaa*.c>L^  \ Jj  Z-^£  

-Wind*,  ilaji-tm hz ¥ko~c/vx  ASlr-  .3a  GslstslO; 

BE  ACCEPTED  AS  EULFILLING  THIS  PART  OF  THE  REQUIREMENTS  FOR 
THE  DEGREE  OF 1 

-Q. 


In  Charge  of  Thesis 


Head  of  Department 


Recommendation  concurred  in* 


Committee 


on 


Final  Examination* 


*Required  for  doctor’s  degree  but  not  for  master’s 


^;:cci 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/sydneygrundystudOOwhet 


Index 


I.  The  English  Stage  (1850-1865)  1. 

II.  The  Life  of  Grundy 14. 

III.  Grundy,  as  Pioneer 22. 

IV.  Grundy,  as  Exponent  of  his  Age 40. 

V.  Grundy,  as  "Playwright  of  the  Past.” 54. 

VI . Conclusi  on 62 . 

VII.  Appendix 67. 

VIII.  A List  of  Grundy's  Plays 73. 

IX.  Bibliography  76  . 


-1- 


I. 

The  English  Stage  (1850  - 1865) 

If,  in  the  spring  of  1865,  an  English  gentleman  had  re- 
turned to  London,  after  a fifteen  years’  stay  in  foreign  countries, 
he  would  have  found  in  the  theatre  a variety  of  entertainment. 

He  might,  for  instance,  have  seen  at  St.  James1  Miss  Herbert  in 
Eleanor1 s Victory,  an  adaptation  from  a novel.  If  his  taste  ran 
to  Shakespeare  he  might  have  seen  Phelps  in  revivals  of  that  great 
Elizabethan  at  Drury  Lane.  There  were  any  number  of  music  halls 
open,  in  which  ballets,  minstrel  shows  and  popular  songs  amused 
throngs  of  London  theatre-goers.  At  the  Haymarket,  he  might  have 
been  entertained  from  seven  until  one  - if  he  chose  to  stay  so 
long  - by  a playbill  composed  of  Three  Weeks  After  Marriage . Used 
Up , a ballet  and  an  extravaganza.  He  would  have  found,  however, 
no  where  in  London,  original  plays  of  any  merit.  Never  perhaps 
was  there  a period  in  which  drama  was  so  near  utter  stagnation  as 
in  the  years  from  1850  - 1865.  Melodrama,  usually  French  adapta- 
tion and  burlesque  were  the  dominant  factors  of  the  English  3tage 
repertoire.  The  actors  were  good,  but  the  plays  were  poor  and 
shabbily  managed.  The  drama  lacked  truth  and  insight  into  life. 

No  one,  moreover,  seemed  to  care  enough  or  to  have  sufficient  cour- 
age or  ability  to  pull  drama  from  the  rut  in  which  it  found  itself. 
Many  were  deploring  the  situation  but  they  did  little  to  alter  it. 
Clement  Scott  wrote  that  at  this  time  "intellectual  men  and  women 
were  leaving  the  theatre  in  disgust  and  removing  their  patronage 

from  the  playhouse”  which  featured  "wretched  plays,  the  miserable 


. 


HI  T ■ . . 

* 


* 

' 

. . - > 

. 


- 


-3- 

scenery,  the  tomfool  dresses,  the  'Adelphi  guests',  the  'Adelphi 
moon*,  and  the  banalities  of  a neglected  and  degraded  stage."  1 
One  of  the  chief  indications  of  the  stagnant  condition 
of  the  theatre  is  the  fact  that  for  twenty-five  years,  from  the 
opening  of  the  Princess'  in  1841  until  1866,  no  new  theatre  was 
erected  in  London.  Although,  after  1843  the  number  of  theatres 
in  which  legitimate  drama  might  be  played  had  been  increased,  what 
little  attempt  was  made  to  introduce  a better  type  of  play  into 
the  music-halls  was  bitterly  opposed  by  the  managers  of  the  for- 
merly "protected"  theatres.  The  legitimate  theatres  invoked  the 

2 

law  against  the  Alhambra  when  L1 Enfant  Prodigue  was  produced  there. 
Buckstone,  Baldwin,  Chatterton  and  Webster  sent  out  spies  to  de- 
tect whether  anything  which  savored  of  the  dramatic  was  being  given 
in  the  music-halls.  It  was  a long  time  before  any  free  exchange 
existed  between  the  music-halls  and  the  legitimate  theatres. 

In  the  latter,  three  types  of  play  were,  at  this  time, 
in  vogue,  melodrama,  burlesque  and  farce,  and  the  romantic  play. 
Monster  plays  and  pantomimes  were  also  given  occasionally.  The 
romantic  type  of  play  was  past  its  first  glory  and  was  only  too 
obviously  declining.  With  the  retirement  in  1851  of  Macready  who 
had  fostered  Bulwer  Lytton  and  Robert  Browning,  came  a period 
which  was  marked  by  little  of  importance  in  romantic  drama.  There 
was,  moreover,  little  scope  for  the  aspiring  dramatist  in  this 
line.  Apparently  a sufficient  number  of  such  dramas  had  already 

1 

Scott,  Drama  of  Yesterday  and  Today,  Vol.I,  p.4?5. 

2 

Hibbert , Fifty  Years  of  a Londoner's  Life,  p.104. 

3 

Scott,  Drama  of  Yesterday  and  Today,  Vol.I,  p.472. 


, 


' 


-3- 


been  written  to  satisfy  the  demand  both  of  the  public  and  of  the 
actors.  The  romantic  plays  which  were  on  the  stage  were  chiefly 
revivals  either  of  Shakespearean  or  of  other  Elizabethan  drama- 
tists. The  Shakespearean  actor  continued  to  do  the  sort  of  thing 
in  which  he  had  won  his  fame.  Charles  Kean  tried  at  this  time 
elaborate  Shakespearean  revivals  and  succeeded  very  well  with  them. 
W.  G.  Wills,  the  author  of  Charles  I , probably  aspired  to  the  ro- 
mantic play,  but  succeeded  only  in  writing  something  which  was 
very  near  melodrama.  Charles  I owed  its  success  rather  to  Irving’s 
acting  than  to  any  particular  merit  it  possessed. 

The  second  type  of  play,  the  melodrama,  although  ludi- 
crous in  its  caricatures  of  life,  was  exceedingly  popular  through- 
out London.  From  1850  to  1875,  Tom  Taylor  was  the  most  noted  ex- 
ponent of  melodrama.  His  plays  are  distinguished  by  much  which 
is  worst  in  this  type  of  play,  exaggeration,  falsification  of 
characters,  and  faulty  motivation.  After  reading  a few  pages, 
one  may  pick  out  almost  unerringly  the  deadly  villain,  the  beauti- 
ful heroine  and  the  wronged  but  brave  and  patient  hero.  Here 
are  no  shades  or  nuances  of  character  drawing;  all  are  either 
glaring  white  or  raven  black.  Tom  Taylor* s Mary  Warner  and  The 
Ticket-of-Leave  Man,  which  ran  for  more  than  four  hundred  nights 
in  London,  are  both  typical  melodramas.  Both  revolve  on  the 
story  of  an  innocent  person  sent  to  prison  for  the  guilt  of  an- 
other; in  Mary  Warner,  the  person  is  the  wife  of  a poor  workman, 
in  The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man,  it  is  an  ignorant  country  boy.  In 
both  cases,  the  innocent  one  acts  in  the  most  noble  fashion,  for- 
gives those  who  have  treated  him  with  the  greatest  cruelty,  - and 
the  play  ends  with  repentance  and  happiness.  Both  dramas  have  a 


. 

. 

■ 

. 

, 

■ 

. 

’ 

■ 

1 

- - 

* 

. . 

■ — — 


-4- 


great  deal  of  action,  many  sentimental  scenes  and  some  ludicrously 
pathetic  ones.  In  Mary  Warner , one  scene  occurs  which  we  have 
come  to  associate  unmistakably  with  melodrama.  In  this  scene,  Mary 
returns  from  court  only  to  be  refused  admittance  by  her  hard-heart- 
ed landlady.  Wishing  that  she  might  die,  Mary  sits  forlornly  on 
the  door-step,  the  snow  "falls  at  intervals”,  the  moon  shines  and 
the  music  plays  mournfully.  Mary  cries,  "He  has  gone  back  to  his 
luxurious  house,  while  I am  thrust  without  a shelter  in  these  rags 
out  into  the  snow.  My  little  Mary  will  never  know  how  her  mother 
died.  They  say  that  to  them  who  are  overtaken  by  the  frost  and 
the  snow-falls,  death  comes  like  a sweet  and  peaceful  sleep.  Come 
so  to  me,  kind  death.  Come  to  me  - for  I am  weary  - weary  of  this 
life."  But,  of  course,  she  lives  to  return  to  her  welcoming  hus- 
band and  child. 

Another  popular  writer  of  melodrama  was  Dion  Boucicault, 
actor  and  manager.  Boucicault  was  known  for  a particular  variety 
of  melodrama,  which  dealt  with  the  Irish  people.  Before  he  began 
to  write  of  the  Irish,  he  had  written  many  plays,  the  plots  of 
which  he  borrowed  from  other  writers,  both  French  and  English.  It 
was  not  until  1860  that  he  began  the  series  of  original  plays 
which  made  him  famous,  Arrah-Na-Pogue , The  Shaughradn , and  Colleen 
Bawn.  These,  too,  are  stock  melodramatic  types,  full  of  improba- 
bilities and  exaggerations.  Although  they  marked  an  advance  in 
character  analysis  in  that  they  showed  the  tragic  as  well  as  the 
comic  side  of  the  Irishman,  they  did  not  go  far  beneath  the  sur- 
face. M.  Filon  wrote  in  1897  that  Boucicault1 s "Irish  psychology 

4 

was  true  to  life".  Compared,  however,  with  the  interpretation 
4 . 

Filon.  The  English  Stage,  p.91  


* 

. 

• . 

' 

. 

' 

< - Jt 


* . 

. 


. 


-5- 


of  the  Irish  peasant  which  we  have  been  given  since  by  Synge,  Lady 
Gregory  and  Ervine,  Boucicault's  representation  is  seen  to  be  false. 
The  Iri3h  character  created  by  Boucioault  was,  nevertheless,  very 
popular  in  his  day,  and  has  persisted  on  the  stage  even  to  the  pre- 
sent . 

The  Englishman  of  the  ‘fifties  must  have  been  very  fond 
of  his  joke,  for  farce  and  burlesque  held  the  central  position  on 
the  English  stage  at  that  time.  The  humor  was,  moreover,  of  the 
oldest  and  broadest  type.  A program  was  seldom  complete  without 
a farce  of  some  kind,  and  often  the  most  serious  plays  were  preced- 
ed by  burlesque.  La  Somnambula;  or  The  Supper,  The _S le_e p er__and 
The  Merry  Swiss  Bo£  is  indicative  of  the  type.  Usually  this  vari- 
ety of  play  depended  for  its  fun  on  very  complicated  and  improbable 
situations,  and  on  stock  comic  characters.  Byron  never  worried 
about  unity  of  subject  or,  in  fact,  about  having  a subject,  but 
depended  for  the  success  of  his  pieces  on  the  supply  of  puns  which 
he  scattered  through  them.  His  head  and  his  notebook  were  full  of 
jokes  which  he  had  collected  from  various  sources.  If,  in  rehear- 
sal, a scene  were  going  poorly,  Byron  could  always  be  relied  upon 
to  compose  a rhyme  or  a joke  which  might  save  the  situation.  Often 
what  he  wrote  was  sheer  nonsense,  but  it  was  nonsense  which  pleased 
the  London  public.  Our  Boys,  by  Byron,  ran  so  long  a time,  a 
thousand  three  hundred,  sixty-two  nights,  that  one  actor  reproved 

for  forgetting  his  lines  exclaimed,  “Do  you  think  that  we  can  re- 

5 

member  the  damned  thing  forever?" 

The  type  of  play  which  was  conspicuous  by  its  absence 

5 

Hibbert,  A Playgoer's  Memories,  p.34. 


/ 

I 

c 


' 


* , 

■ 


, 

. 

. 


-6- 


at  this  time  was  that  dealing  truly  and  without  prejudice  with 
English  life.  Neither  in  comedy  nor  in  tragedy  were  such  plays 
being  oreated.  There  seemed  to  be  nothing  between  the  Shakespear- 
ean revivals  and  the  farce.  Seemingly  the  masters  of  drama  had 
failed  to  hand  down  their  rules  to  the  younger  generation,  or  the 
younger  generation  refused  to  heed  the  rules  of  the  masters 

But  there  was  a more  potent  reason  than  this.  The  great- 
est reason  for  the  unproductiveness  of  native  drama  was  the  flood 
of  adaptations  which  swept  the  country.  Instead  of  creating  drama 
dealing  with  English  people  and  English  themes,  the  playwrights 
of  the  ‘fifties,  ’sixties,  ’seventies  and  even  later  borrowed  ideas, 
characters,  plots  and  structure  from  the  French.  Borsa  wrote  that 
the  "only  author  who  then  achieved  success  was  Scribe.”  In  this 
enormous  dose  of  French  drama,  from  which  it  took  the  English  stage 
many  years  to  recover,  is  to  be  found,  I think,  one  of  the  chief 
reasons  why  no  English  plays  of  merit  were  produced  at  this  time. 
Managers  found  it  much  cheaper  and  easier  to  adapt  or  to  translate 
a French  play  than  to  write  a new  English  one.  In  1850,  moreover, 
no  copyright  laws  prevented  managers  from  doing  or  having  this 
done  if  they  chose.  Before  1852  a play  might  be  taken  bodily  from 
the  French  to  the  English  stage  without  paying  any  royalty.  In 
that  year  a law  was  passed  giving  a foreign  author  copyright  privi- 
leges in  England  for  five  years,  and  prohibiting  translation  but 
not  adaptation.  It  was  sufficient,  therefore,  for  an  English 
author  to  change  a character  or  a minor  detail  in  the  plot  in 
order  to  comply  with  the  law.  But  in  1875  a law  was  passed  govern- 

6 

Borsa,  1 The  English  Stage  of  Today  , p.51. 


. 

. 

' . 1 
4 < 

* 

' 

• . 


. . i 


-7- 


ing  adaptation  as  well  as  translation.  It  was  not,  however,  until 
1887,  as  a result  of  the  Treaty  of  Berne  that  the  work  of  a foreign 
author  was  fully  protected.  From  1875  until  1887  that  type  of  ad- 
aptation was  popular  which  took  a problem  or  thesis  from  a French 
play  and  projected  it  into  English  life.  Sometimes  the  thesis  fit- 
ted English  life,  and  sometimes  it  did  not.  In  this  incongruity 
between  situation  and  character,  lies  one  of  the  reasons  for  the 
falsity  of  many  of  the  adaptations.  Clement  Scott  gives  a rather 

amusing  but  none  the  less  true  account  of  how  the  process  of  ad- 

7 

aptation  was  often  carried  out.  Scott,  Stephenson  and  Bancroft 
after  seeing  Sardou’s  Dora  in  Paris  were  agreed  that  it  would  make 
a good  English  play.  They  decided  that  Sardou's  second  act  must 
either  go  or  be  combined  with  Act  I.  They  then  were  puzzled  to 
find  the  typically  English  element  which  must  be  inserted.  Finally 
they  decided  that  "jingoism  ",  then  popular  in  England,  would  lend 
atmosphere  to  the  play.  By  the  time  they  reached  London,  the 
structure  of  the  whole  thing  was  decided  on,  and  Scott  settled  down 
to  the  writing  and  Bancroft  to  the  editing.  Scott  was  very  proud 
of  the  result  which  under  the  title  of  Diplomacy  enjoyed  a success- 
ful London  run. 

It  is  little  wonder  that  with  such  wealth  of  material  to 
draw  from  the  ordinary  London  manager  preferred  the  adaptation  to 
the  original  play.  The  manager  knew  he  could  employ  a mediocre 
writer  for  a small  sum  to  make  an  adaptation  which  might  be  as 
successful  as  an  original  play  by  a skilled  dramatist.  The  play- 
wrights of  the  day  were,  therefore,  forced  to  turn  their  hands  to 

7 

Scott,  English  Drama  of  Yesterday  and  To-day,  Vol.  I.,  p.  593. 


. 

. 

.■ 

. off;  io  y lsf  l 


I 


1 

1 

. 

; 

. ' O’. 


. 


. ■ 


-8- 


adaptation  if  they  wished  to  live.  Tom  Taylor  was  glad  to  get  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man  which  he  ad- 
apted from  Leonard  by  Brisebarre  and  Nuz . Robertson,  for  a long 
time  in  despair  because  he  could  not  find  a market  for  his  original 
plays,  was  forced  to  do  adaptation.  For  a period  he  was  even  em- 
ployed by  Lacy,  a theatrical  bookseller,  at  such  contemptible  work 
as  retranslating  West-End  successes  of  French  plays  for  East-End 
theatres.  To  such  lengths  had  adaptation  gone!' 

Also  largely  responsible  for  the  neglect  of  English  drama 
was  the  actor-manager  system  of  England,  which  although  sometimes 
beneficial,  was  more  often  a detriment  to  the  theatre.  The  actor- 
manager  might  have  done  much  for  native  drama  if  he  had  so  chosen- 
Marie  Wilton  was  one  who  did  choose  - but  usually  he  was  too  in- 
terested in  making  money  or  in  increasing  his  fame  to  give  much  at- 
tention to  the  aspiring  dramatist.  Shaw  places  the  blame  on  the 
system  as  such  rather  than  on  the  individual.  He  writes:  "We  all 
know  by  this  time  that  the  effect  of  the  actor-manager  system  is 
to  impose  on  every  dramatic  author  who  wishes  to  have  his  work  pro- 
duced in  first  rate  style,  the  condition  that  there  shall  be  a 
good  part  for  the  actor-manager  in  it.  This  is  not  in  the  least 
due  to  the  vanity  and  jealousy  of  the  actor-manager:  it  is  due  to 

C 

his  popularity."  In  any  case,  such  a system  is  a curb  to  the 
aspiring  young  dramatist. 

One  of  the  chief  faults  of  the  plays  of  the  third  quarter 
of  the  century  was  just  this,  that  they  were  too  obviously  full  of 
fat  roles  for  actor  -managers.  W.  S.  Gilbert  in  1873  7/rote  in  fun 

8 

Archer,  The  Theatrical  World  of  1894,  p.XVI 


. 

_ 

. 


, • 

1 . L . ' . 

- 


- 

. 


. 


. 


. [ -a. 


-9- 


an  illuminating  article  on  how  plays  were  made.  Although  the  es- 
say was  written  in  a whimsical  vein,  there  was  a great  deal  of 
truth  beneath  it.  Gilbert  told  of  the  struggles  of  a dramatist, 
who  had  an  order  from  a manager  for  a play  on  a certain  date.  The 
entire  drama,  idea  and  all,  must  be  written  with  certain  actors 
in  mind.  Even  the  dialogue  must  be  arranged  in  order  that  a cer- 
tain famous  comedian  might  win  applause.  In  such  a scheme  the 
actor-manager  and  his  friends  were  sure  to  be  well  protected,  even 
if  the  minor  actors  were  never  given  a chance.  Certainly  there 
was  little  opportunity  for  dramatic  genius  in  such  a made-to-order 
play. 

Unfortunately  the  theatrical  world  was  full  of  actor- 
managers  who  demanded  just  this  type  of  play.  Chatterton,  Buck- 
stone,  Webster  and  George  Vining  were  distinguished  by  narrow-mind- 
edness and  by  an  unwillingness  to  venture  or  to  see  beyond  their 
day.  It  was  Chatterton  who  said,  ”1  am  neither  a literary  mission- 
ary nor  a martyr.  I am  simply  the  manager  of  a theatre,  a vendor 

of  intellectual  entertainment  to  the  London  public,  and  I found 

g 

that  Shakespeare  spelled  ruin  and  Byron  bankruptcy.”  Bucketone 
is  perhaps  the  most  typical  as  well  as  the  best  known  of  the  man- 
agers of  that  day.  He  was  not  only  actor  and  manager,  but  also 
playwright.  His  mind  was  unfortunately  closed  to  anything  beyond 
his  own  experience.  Calling  it  "rot”,  Bucket one  refused  Robert- 
son’s Society , as  in  fact  did  all  the  other  London  managers.  He 
was  unwilling  to  give  Marie  Wilton  a chance  to  act  in  anything  but 
burlesque;  he  could  not,  he  said,  associate  her  with  anything  but 

9 

Hibbert , Fifty  Years  of  a Londoner’s  Life,  p.242. 


. 


' 

. 

. 


. 

- 

. 

. 

. 

. 

* _______  1 


’ 


-10- 


the  "merry  sauciness  of  that  wicked  little  boy  Cupid."  Moreover, 

he  ran  his  company  in  a very  slip-shod,  even  if  delightfully  happy- 

go-lucky  fashion.  He,  as  well  as  the  other  managers  of  that  period 

could  not  take  drama  seriously.  When  one  of  Buckstone'3  actors 

was  missing  one  evening  and  a frantic  search  had  been  made  for  him, 

he  was  found  talking  calmly  to  the  manager  in  a tavern  across  the 

way.^1  By  opposing  free  dramatic  criticism,  both  Buckstone  and 

Vining  hindered  the  progress  of  drama.  Buckstone  was  wont  to  say 

12 

of  the  dramatic  critics,  "What  do  they  know  about  it?"  , while 
Vining  declared  that  a dramatic  critic  was  the  lasu  person  to  make 
a complaint,  because  he  came  in  on  an  order. 

If,  however,  the  number  of  narrow  actor-managers  was 
large,  some  there  undoubtedly  were  who  did  much  for  the  drama. 

Marie  Wilton  was  the  exception  which  proved  the  rule.  The  opening 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre,  under  her  management,  on  April, 

15,  1865,  was  probably  the  first  step  forward  for  English  drama. 
Marie  Wilton,  despairing  of  being  permitted  to  act  anything  but 
burlesque,  decided  to  q?en  a theatre  of  her  own.  She  succeeded  in 
forming  a partnership  with  H.  G.  Byron,  in  which  she  was  to  fur- 
nish a thousand  pounds,  and  he  was  to  furnish  the  plays.  Bjr  dint 
of  a great  deal  of  hard  work  and  courage,  Marie  Wilton  transform- 
ed a miserably  dirty  little  theatre  near  Tottenham  Court  Road  into 
what  was  spoken  of  then  as  a "blue  and  white  bonbonniere " . The 
theatre  succeeded  very  well  for  a time;  it  became  the  fashion  to 

^Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft,  p.  172,  Vol.I. 

11  Maude,  The  Hayma.rket  Theatre,  p.  140. 

12 


Maude , The  Haymarket  Theatre , p . 143  . 


•;  * 


. 

. 

' 

. 

fc  , 

* 


. 


. . 


-11- 


go  for  amusement  to  the  well-lighted,  cheerful  little  theatre.  But 
Marie  Wilton  was  not  satisfied;  she  wanted  to  act  something  bet- 
ter than  burlesque.  Byron  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  brought  up 
in  the  school  of  puns  and  was  incapable  or  unwilling  to  write  any- 
thing but  farcical  plays.  The  two  drifted  apart  for  a time,  and 
then,  when  Byron  became  entangled  in  theatrical  speculation  in 
Liverpool,  a dissolution  was  effected.  Marie  Wilton  was  now  with- 
out both  a co-manager  and  a dramatist.  Already  she  had  accomplish- 
ed wonders  in  management;  3he  had  effected  changes  in  the  system 
of  costuming  and  had  insisted  on  the  best  she  could  get  in  actors 
and  plays.  But  she  wanted  to  go  farther.  She  soon  found  a man- 
ager in  Squire  Bancroft,  whom  she  afterwards  married.  Her  happier 
choice,  for  the  drama,  however,  was  that  of  Society  by  T.  W. 
Robertson  as  her  next  production. 

Robertson,  at  this  time,  was  meeting  rebuff  after  re- 
buff whenever  he  attempted  to  eell  an  original  play.  All  the 
London  managers  were  afraid  to  produce  Society , because  of  what 
was  then  thought  of  as  its  vivid  realism.  Finally,  however,  he 
succeeded  in  bringing  out  Society  in  Liverpool.  It  was  about  this 
time  that  Byron  left  Marie  Wilton.  She  was  glad  to  secure 
Robertson’s  play  and  to  produce  it  in  her  new  theatre.  When 
warned  that  the  realistic  scene  in  the  Owl’s  Roost  was  a menace 
to  the  play,  she  exclaimed  that  it  was  "better  to  be  dangerous 
than  to  be  dull”.13  She  must  have  recognized  some  spark  of  future 
genius  in  the  play;  certainly  the  leading  character  gave  her  little 
opportunity  to  display  her  own  talent.  Differing,  however,  from 
the  usual  actor-manager,  she  was  willing  to  produce  Society  even 

13 

Hibbert.  Fifty  Years  of  a Londoner^  Life,  p.  343. 


-12- 


if  it  would  add  little  to  her  personal  glory  as  an  actress.  It 
was,  however,  to  add  much  to  her  fame,  for  Society  was  only  the 
first  of  a series  of  plays  which  made  both  her  and  Robertson 
favorably  known. 

If,  when  Society  was  produced  on  November  11,  1865, 
the  English  drama  did  not  immediately  awake,  it  at  least  began 
to  stir  in  its  sleep  and  to  feel  the  premonitions  of  a not  too 
distant  awakening.  Society . which  ran  far  beyond  the  four  per- 
formances prophesied  for  it  by  Buckstone,  was  followed  by  a 
series  of  similar  plays.  Among  the  most  notable  of  these  were 
Ours , Caste  and  School . Compared  with  the  play  of  today  they 
were  extremely  faulty,  but  compared  with  those  which  had  immedi- 
ately preceded  they  possessed  many  merits.  They  were,  first  of 
all,  more  original  than  anything  which  had  gone  before.  The  life 
in  them  was  not  taken  from  books  but  from  real  men  and  women. 
Robertson's  career  had  led  him  to  many  places,  and  he,  a keen 
observer,  had  3tored  his  memory  with  many  characters  and  situa- 
tions. The  people  in  his  plays  were  more  true  to  life  than  were 
those  in  the  plays  preceding.  He  drew  the  journalists  in 
Society  and  Polly  Eccles  in  Caste  from  real  life.  The  dialogue 
of  Robertson  was,  moreover,  nearer  the  talk  of  real  English  men 
and  women  than  anything  which  had  been  heard  on  the  London  stage 
for  some  time.  Finally,  Robertson  made  an  attempt  to  comment  on 
life  and  to  treat,  even  if  somewhat  superficially,  some  of  the 
social  problems  of  his  day. 

In  spite  of  his  merits,  Robertson  had  many  faults.  Of 
all  his  plays,  only  Caste , had  any  real  well-developed  situa- 
tion. Even  this  Robertson  was  unable  to  keep  entirely  free  from 


__  , 


1 

.<  . 

. 


. 

. 

-13- 


melodramatic  traits.  Most  of  his  plays  possessed  faults  in 
structure.  Many  of  them  were  filled  with  wishy-washy  sentiment, 
which  led  to  the  app^Lation  of  "cup  and  saucer"  comedy.  There 
were  also  scenes  which  were  exaggerated,  namely  the  scene  in 
Crimea  in  Ours.  Nevertheless,  because  of  its  comedy  value,  its 
fairly  true  presentation  of  life  and  its  originality,  Robertson’s 
work  marked  a step  forward  in  the  development  of  the  English 
dr  ama . 

In  spite  of  the  opening  of  the  Prince  of  Wales’  theatre 
and  the  presentation  of  the  plays  of  Tom  Robertson,  the  golden 
age  of  drama  was  still  a dim  vision  in  the  minds  of  idealists. 

The  public  was  still  delighting  in  melodrama  and  in  the  broadest 
of  farce  and  burlesque.  Managers  were  still  indifferent  to  or 
unwilling  to  encourage  what  products  of  native  talent  might  be 
offered  them.  Marie  Wilton  was  an  exception  among  managers;  the 
majority  of  them  were  interested  mainly  in  cheap  productions. 
Robertson's  plays  were  only  a few  in  the  great  mass  of  drama 
being  produced.  Adaptations  from  Scribe,  Labiche,  Sardou  and 
Dumas  were  flooding  the  theatrical  market  of  England.  The  "blue 
and  white  bonbonniere"  on  Tottenham  Court  Road  could  reach  only 
a few.  There  was  still  great  room  for  improvement.  The  way  had 
been  shown;  a little  step  forward  had  been  taken.  It  remained 
for  someone  else  to  take  up  and  make  more  potent  the  work  which 
Marie  Wilton  and  Robertson  had  labored  many  years  to  start. 


1 


. 


. 

-14- 


II  . 

The  Life  of  Grundy. 

The  scarcity  of  biographical  material  concerning  Sydney 
Grundy  has  made  it  especially  difficult  to  write  a coherent  ac- 
count of  his  life.  A number  of  letters  written  by  Professor 
Hillebrand  to  various  figures  in  the  London  theatrical  world 
have  brought  two  valuable  replies,  one  from  William  Archer  and 
the  other  from  George  Bernard  Shaw.  Both  these  letters,  with 
a note  from  Mrs.  Kendal,  are  included  in  an  appendix.  Aside  from 
them  almost  nothing  concerning  the  life  of  Grundy  could  be  found. 
Hints  of  his  struggle  for  recognition  and  of  his  resentment  at 
the  reception  his  plays  received  are  reflected  in  critical  re- 
views and  even  in  his  own  plays,  such  as  The  Silver  Shield.  This 
lack  of  material  is  more  deplora.ble  because  one  feels  that  in  the 
case  of  Grundy,  more  than  with  most  men,  a knowledge  of  his  life 
is  peculiarly  essential  to  the  complete  understanding  of  his  work. 
The  perpetual  struggle  throughout  his  career  against  real  or 
fancied  enemies  reflects  itself  continually  in  his  attitude  to- 
wards life  as  it  is  expressed  in  his  plays.  His  influence  might 
indeed  have  been  even  more  strongly  felt  than  it  was,  if  he  had 
not  vitiated  his  force  by  scattering  it  against  many  opponents. 

Sydney  Grundy  was  born  in  Manchester,  England,  on  the 
twenty-third  of  March,  1848,  of  upper  middle-class  stock.  His 
father  was  Charles  Sydney  Grundy,  formerly  mayor  of  Manchester. 
Young  Grundy  may  have  had  tutors;  at  least  William  Archer  writes 
of  this  period:  "He  told  me  (I  think)  that  it  was  a Frenchman 


-15- 


who  taught  him  French  in  Manchester  who  instilled  into  him  that 
admiration  of  Eugene  Scribe  which  established  his  dramatic  method, 
and  which,  unfortunately,  he  never  outgrew.  His  French,  however, 
remained  very  imperfect.  He  was  capable  of  rather  gross  mis- 
translations. For  instance,  he  would  translate  •chance’,  simply 
Chance*  instead  of  *good  fortune'”.1  Grundy  received  his  college 
training  at  Owen  College,  Manchester,  now  Victoria  University. 

After  college  Grundy  studied  to  be  a lawyer  and  was 

/ 

called  to  the  bar  in  1869.  From  then  until  1876  he  practised 
law,  not  without  some  measure  of  success.  But  his  interest  seem3 
early  to  have  lain  in  the  drama  and  led  him  to  write  plays  four 
years  before  he  definitely  made  dramatic  work  his  profession.  His 
first  play,  a one-act  comedietta  A Little  Change,  he  sent  in  1872 
to  the  manager  of  the  Haymarket , London.  Across  the  first  page 
of  the  manuscript  he  had  written,  ”You  may  Play  this  for  Nothing." 
Within  three  weeks  the  play  was  produced  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kendal 
in  the  leading  roles.  Encouraged  by  this  modest  entrance  into 
the  theatrical  world,  Grundy  wrote  and  saw  produced  in  Manchester 
in  1873  the  play.  All  at  Sea. 

This  early  period  of  Grundy* s life  was  one  of  rebellion 
against  the  narrow  conventions  of  his  own  town.  It  was  sometime 
in  the  early  * seventies,  I should  judge,  that  he  evoked  the  mor- 
bid curiosity  and  the  wrath  of  the  Manchester  gossips.  Archer 
writes  in  this  connection:  "I  knew  that  there  had  been  some 

trouble  in  his  early  life  which  had  procured  him  in  some  quarters 
the  reputation  of  a man  of  loose  morals.  I fancy  it  was  almost 

1 

See  Appendix,  p 70 . 


f 1 


- 

. I I ( 

* 

. 


. 

1 


' 


-16- 


entirely  undeserved  - probably  some  sentimental  imbroglio  was 
harshly  interpreted  by  the  Pharisaism  of  his  native  place." 
Whatever  it  may  have  been,  the  remembrance  of  the  experience 
rankled  throughout  Grundy's  life,  and  undoubtedly  led  to  his 
championship  of  those  whom  he  believed  to  be  harshly  condemned. 
What  he  endured  then  is  reflected  in  his  three  volume  novel. 

The  Days  of  his  Vanity,  and  in  such  plays  as  The  Silver  Shield 
and  Slaves  of  the  Ring.  That  both  he  and  his  work  were  abhorrent 
to  Manchester  may  be  ascertained  from  the  remark  of  a critic  of 
that  city  who  denounced  his  work  as  being  "eaten  up  with  the  can- 
cer , or  canker,  or  chancre  of  immorality." 

Restless,  then,  under  the  bonds  of  convention  and  en- 
couraged by  the  production  of  two  of  his  plays,  the  young  drama- 
tist started  to  London  with  many  ideas  and  much  enthusiasm. 

About  this  time  - perhaps  on  the  way  to  London  - Grundy  met  his 
life  long  friend  and  critic,  William  Archer.  In  1897,  Grundy 
wrote  an  account  of  this  meeting  which  shows  the  eagerness,  en- 
thusiasm and  stubbornness  of  the  young  playwright. 

"Twenty  years  drop  from  my  back,  and  I am  seated  in 
a humble  compartment  of  the  London,  Chatham,  and  Dover  Railway. 
Opposite  to  me  is  a young  Scotchman  - Scotsman  he  calls  himself; 
but  I,  possessing  no  literary  style,  call  him  a Scotchman;  be- 
cause, though  it  may  be  very  bad  Scots,  it  is  excellent  English. 
We  fall  into  conversation.  We  discover  that  we  are  both  pro- 
foundly interested  in  plays  and  players.  We  discuss  them  eager- 
ly; and  I find  myself,  almost  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  in 

2 

See  Appendix t p.  ?i . 


mV  I 

, 


, 


- 


. 


. 


. 


-17- 


agreement  with  one  of  my  fellow-creatures.  My  companion  was  not 
then,  Mr.  Archer,  the  eminent  critic,  or  I should  not  have  pre- 
sumed to  address  him;  he  was  only  a young  Mr.  Archer,  a law-stu- 
dent, with  a portrait  of  one  Henrik  Ibsen  hanging  over  his  bed- 
room mantel-piece.  How  we  analyzed  those  plays:  How  we  discussed 
those  players:  How  we  dissected  that  Ibsen!  And  how  we  agreed! 

3 

Our  unanimity  was  wonderful." 

This  strong  interest  in  and  study  of  Ibsen  must  have 

had  an  influence  on  Grundy’s  work,  although  he  "vehemently  denied 

any  imitation  of  Ibsen's  matter  or  manner."* * * 4'  Ibsen's  symbolism 

and  his  emphasis  of  social  problems  were  the  characteristics  which 

most  appealed  to  Grundy.  Dickinson  says  that  Grundy  "attempted 

to  combine  the  technique  of  Scribe  with  the  moral  intensity  of 

a Norwegian  or  a German  dramatist."5  Many  of  his  plays,  different 

as  they  are  from  Ibsen  in  form  and  characterization,  have  much  of 

his  moral  fervor.  Miss  Franc  writes  that  Armitage  in  The  Greatest 

of  These  - is  "another  Consul  Bernick  in  his  infallible  virtue" 

and  that  the  relation  of  husband  and  wife  in  the  same  play  is  that 

of  an  older  Helmer  and  Nora.6 7  However,  she  remarks  that  "Grundy 

reveals  careful  observance  of  the  Norwegian  dramatist"  in  this 
7 

play  alone.  It  seems  to  me  that  Ibsen's  treatment  of  social  pro- 
blems subtly  influenced  Grundy  throughout  his  career.  Such  an 
early  play  as  Slaves  of  the  Ring  which  Grundy  in  high  hope  must 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1897,  introduction,  p.  XII 

4 

Franc,  Ibsen  in  England,  p.  139 

5 

Dickinson,  Contemporary  Drama  in  England,  p.  89 

6 

Franc,  Ibsen  in  England,  p.  147 

7 

Franc,  Ibsen  in  England,  p.  140 


• 

1 

l 

. 

1 

. 

. 

. 

• 

- - 

> 

1 

' 


-18- 


have  carried  with  him  to  London,  reveals  in  its  moral  tone  a strand 
of  influence  from  Norway.  But  just  as  Ibsen  would,  in  1876,  have 
been  condemned  in  London,  so  Slaves  of  the  Ring,  with  its  sharp 
blows  at  the  narrowness  and  cruelty  of  convention,  "was  rejected 
by  every  important  manager  in  London.” 

What  the  London  audience  liked  and  wanted  was  melodrama 
or  light,  pleasant  comedy.  What  the  London  manager  found  easiest 
and  cheapest  to  produce  was  French  adaptation,  embodying  these 
qualities  of  exaggeration,  lightness  and  superficiality.  "Even 
after  Robertson  there  was  an  undiminished  flow  of  adaptations  from 
the  French.  All  the  leading  dramatists  were  occupied  in  this  curi- 
ously ignoble  and  servile  task.  It  was  considered  the  right  thing 
to  do;  at  all  events,  from  the  managerial  standpoint  it  was  con- 

Q 

sidered  the  safe  thing  to  do."  Under  such  conditions  Grundy  turn- 
ed to  adaptation  and,  unfortunately  for  his  later  work,  achieved 
some  success  with  Mamma , The  Snowball,  and  In  Honour  Bound.  As  he 
did  not,  however,  make  a great  deal  of  money,  he  lived  in  quite 
humble  circumstances  with  his  wife  and  daughter  in  West  Dutwich. 
This  daughter,  Lily  Grundy,  afterwards  went  on  the  stage,  but  gain- 
ed only  a middling  success.  All  the  time  the  dramatist  was  working 
unceasingly  at  original  plays,  adaptations  and  librettos,  turning 
out  from  two  to  three  a year.  With  the  appearance  of  the  Drury 
Lane  melodrama.  The  Bells  of  Haslemere  , in  1887  he  won  a certain 
amount  of  financial  ease.  From  1885  until  1895  he  was  classed 
with  Pinero  and  Jones,  and  in  1893  he  achieved  pnenomenal  success 
with  Sowing  the  Wind,  which  had  a seven  years’  run  in  England  and 
was  very  favorably  received  in  the  United  States.  In  the  last 

Courtney,  Old  Saws  and  Modern  Instance,  p.  176. 


8 


. 

, 


• 

* 

• 

* 

. 

• 

1 


-19- 


8eventeen  years  of  his  life  he  did  little  notable  work  along  dramatic 
lines,  but  he  continued  until  his  death  to  produce  plays  and  to  write 
articles  on  subjects  of  dramatic  interest.  On  July  5,  1914,  after  a 
long  period  of  suffering,  he  died  of  cancer. 

If  one  had  met  Grundy  on  the  London  streets  in  the  late 
nineteenth  century,  he  would,  I think,  have  taken  the  dramatist  for 
a successful  banker.  He  had  none  of  the  elegance  of  Wilde,  none  of 
the  fervor  of  Shaw,  nor  the  dignity  of  Pinero.  There  was  little  of 
the  theatrical  in  his  appearance  as  revealed  by  his  picture.  Kind- 
liness, idealism  lie  in  his  eyes,  but  a certain  stubbornness  seems 
also  apparent  in  the  squareness  of  his  shoulders  and  the  erect  lift 
of  his  head.  His  early  training  revealed  itself  in  his  bearing.  "He 
retained  through  life",  writes  Archer,  "a  slight  north  country  ac- 
cent, many  north  country  peculiarities."  He  had  hobbies,  too;  among 
these  were  astronomy  and  a fervent  interest  in  the  search  which  was 

q 

made  for  some  Baconian  manuscripts."  His  almost  childlike  shyness  is, 
of  course,  manifest  in  his  reaction  to  criticism.  A story,  which 
Cyril  Maude  tells  of  him  reveals  this  almost  morbid  sensitiveness 
and  reminds  one  of  Shaw's  poet,  Marchbanks,  who  sat  in  agony  over 
how  much  to  pay  the  cabman.  Maude  writes: 

"When  Grundy  first  wrote  a play  for  us  I noticed  that  he 
seemed  very  restless  and  unhappy.  He  could  do  nothing  but  fidget  a- 
bout  and  was  constantly  going  out  and  strolling  up  and  down  in  front 
of  the  theatre  for  ten  minutes  or  so  at  a time.  I was  much  puzzled 
as  to  what  could  possibly  be  the  matter  with  him,  and  neither  Harri- 
son nor  myself  could  discover  a reason  for  his  apparent  discomfort. 

At  last  one  day  after  the  rehearsals  had  been  some  little  time  in 

progress  Grundy  came  up  to  me  mysteriously,  and  after  talking  a few 
9 


See  Appendix , p.  72  . 


' 


' 


* 


-20- 


commonplaces,  said: 

"'I  say,  Maude,  by  the  way  I hear  Marshall  smokes  in  the 
theatre  when  he's  rehearsing.  Is  that  so?' 

"'Yes,  of  course',  I replied. 

"A  look  of  great  joy  illumined  Grundy's  face. 

"'Thank  Heaven!  he  replied;  'then  I can  smoke  my  pipe.'  And 
forthwith  out  came  a briar. 

"From  that  moment  all  trace  of  restlessness  and  discontent 
vanished. "10 

The  number  of  Grundy's  outbursts  against  certain  critics  and 
the  bitterness  of  his  invectives  might  indicate  that  he  was  a man 
of  harsh,  sour  temperament.  Such  was  the  opposite  of  the  case.  He 
was  a person  of  remarkably  affectionate  disposition;  his  attacks 
were  never  aimed  at  the  man,  but  at  the  idea  which  the  man  champion- 
ed. Shaw  writes:  "Grundy  never  alluded  to  me  in  print  except  in 

terms  of  the  most  contemptuous  hostility.  Eut  we  were  none  the 
worse  friends  personally."11  Grundy,  himself,  after  calling  Shaw 
a cannibal  and  Palmer  his  enemy  could  write  in  this  fashion: 

"When  I see  a bubble  I am  irresistibly  impelled  to  prick 
it,  no  matter  if  I prick  myself  in  the  process;  when  I meet  a hum- 
but , I cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  call  him  one.  This  leads  to 
unpleasantness.  But  I can  love  my  adversary,  even  7/hen  I am  doing 
my  humble  best  to  disembowel  him;  so  can  Mr.  Shaw,  and  I have  little 
doubt  that,  despite  my  plain  speech,  we  shall  again  be  seen  hob-nob- 
bing over  a dish  of  lentils  and  a jorum  of  toast  and  water.  I even 
have  hopes  that  Mr.  Palmier  and  I may  one  afternoon  crack  together  a 
pot  of  Oxford  tea.  Unluckily,  I can't  eat  tea-cakes,  and  muffins 

10 

Maude,  The  Haymarket  Theatre,  p.  234. 

11 


See,  Appendix , p.  68. 


■ 

' • 1 6%  H ! : 


. 


' 

! 


. 


* 


' 


-21- 

would  mean  an  inquest. "12 

Such  was  the  method  of  fighting  of  one  who  called  himself 
"the  least  pugnacious,  because  one  of  the  laziest  of  men".  Person- 
ally, he  was  hurt  by  the  criticism  of  his  work,  and  he  magnified 
perhaps  the  forces  working  against  him.  He  was,  I think,  sincere 
when  he  spoke  of  the  "protracted  crusade"  which  he  believed  Clement 
Scott  waged  against  him.13  The  reaction  of  the  young  playwright  to 
adverse  opinion  is  shown  in  this: 

"In  artistic  matters  the  personal  equation  counts  for  a 
great  deal;  and  a paragraph  of  undue  severity,  or  an  injurious  mis- 
statement of  fact  is  not  balanced  by  a column  of  fulsom  adulation. 
Above  all,  no  eulogy,  however  lavish,  in  the  day  of  prosperity  can 
compensate  for  neglect  or  contumely  in  the  day  of  small  things."14 

It  seems  a strange  paradox  that  a man  so  gentle  and  so  pe- 
culiarly sensitive  to  criticism  should  have  continually  struggled 
with  life  and  invited  the  criticism  of  men.  Never  was  Grundy's 
lance  at  rest.  In  his  Manchester  days  he  fought  the  dragon  of  Vic- 
torian morality;  later  he  met  neglect,  criticism,  and  finally  in- 
tellectual oblivion.  However,  he  retained  his  youth,  his  idealism 
to  the  end.  "A  born  fighter,  he  never  showed  any  malice,  and  his 
occasional  outbursts  did  not  represent  his  kindly  and  generous 
nature . 


Grundy.  Play  of  the  Future,  p.  33. 

13 

The  Theatre . Vol.  13,  p.  298. 

14 

Archer,  Theatrical  World.  1897,  preface,  p.  XXII. 

15 

The  Athenaeum , July  11,  1914. 


I 


-22- 

III. 

Grundy,  as  Pioneer. 

Sydney  Grundy* s death,  no  less  than  his  life,  was  mark- 
ed by  irony.  In  July,  1914,  when  the  world  was  filled  with  the 
rumble  of  assembling  armies,  the  death  of  an  old-fashioned  drama- 
tist was  perforce  relegated  to  the  briefest  of  notices  in  the 
newspapers.  Six  days  after  his  death,  a very  concise  review  of 
his  life  appeared  in  the  "Dramatic  Gossip"  column  of  The  Athenaeum. 
The  notice  which  gives  as  his  two  best  plays,  a couple  of  adapta- 
tions, A Marriage  of  Convenience  and  A Pair  of  Spectacles  is  sig- 
nificant in  that  it  is  just  about  what  had  been  said  of  Grundy 
throughout  his  career.  In  the  statement  that  he  showed  a "deft 
hand  in  farce  and  melodrama"  lies  the  customary  slight  hint  of 
appreciation.  The  majority  of  critics  even  in  condemning  Grundy 
threw  him  a grudging  word  of  praise.  They  were  as  slow  to  appre- 
ciate the  merit  of  his  original  work  as  they  were  quick  to  decry 
the  ingeniousness  of  his  adaptations. 

There  were  those,  however,  who  saw  in  Grundy  a man 
capable  of  doing  very  good  work  on  the  stage.  The  most  sympathet- 
ic and  appreciative  critic  of  Grundy  was  probably  William  Archer. 
In  1882, Archer  heralded  Grundy  as  one  of  the  leading  playwrights, 
as  perhaps  the  regenerator  of  the  stage.  A little  later,  in  1886, 
he  classed  him  with  Jones  and  Pinero.  Although  Archer  was  eager 
to  see  Grundy* s merits  he  could  not  fail  to  see  hie  faults,  and, 

x 

for  a time,  the  critic  deplored  the  dramatist’s  ingeniousness  and 
lack  of  real  dramatic  insight.  In  1893  Archer  wrote  "Mr.  Sydney 


. 


. 

* 

. 3 


. 

. 


-23- 


Grundy  has  for  years  been  afflicted,  I take  it,  with  paralysis  of 
artistic  ambition.  It  is  assuredly  no  lack  of  inborn  talent  that 
he  suffers  from,  but  lack  of  will  to  use  it  to  the  best  advantage,"3 
and  again  in  the  next  year,  "I  believe  Mr.  Grundy  has  the  brain 
power  for  half  a dozen  masterpieces  if  only  he  would  get  rid  of 
one  or  two  technical  prejudices  which  still  lumber  his  mind."  ^ 
Perhaps  Grundy* s next  most  favorable  critic  was  Max 

| 

Beerbohm.  The  period  of  the  late  nineteenth  and  early  twentieth 

Ij 

century,  in  which  Max  acted  as  the  dramatic  critic  for  The  Satur-  j| 
day  Review  was,  moreover,  a period  of  slender  activity  for  Grundy .| 
Although  Beerbohm  deplored  Grundy 1 s "perfunctory  humor",  his  un- 

i 

distinguished  writing  and  his  aiming  at  situation,  nevertheless,  j 
he  saw  what  many  reviewers  failed  to  see,  the  latent  ability  in 
the  dramatist.  He  seemed  to  think  the  cause  of  Grundy’s  weakness  | 

i 

! 

was  that  he  "loved  the  past  so  well  that  he  could  not  bear  to 

! 

treat  it  otherwise  than  as  the  present."  He  said,  however,  "Mr. 

;! 

Grundy  has  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  a keen  sense  of  character,  j! 

I! 

He  has  wit,  too.  If  he  chose  to,  he  could  write  an  excellent 

3 i! 

comedy  of  contemporary  life."  I doubt,  however,  whether  in  1908 

|| 

when  that  critique  was  written  Sydney  Grundy  could  have  "come 
back"  sufficiently  to  write  anything  but  adaptation.  He  was  by 
that  time  trained  heart  and  soul  in  a school  from  which  he  had 
tried  to  escape  but  to  which  he  had  been  forced  back  until  he 
grew  to  like  it. 


Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1893,  p.  142. 

2 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1894,  p.118. 


3 


Saturday  Review,  April  25,  1908,  p.  525. 


V- 

• 

1 

■ 

• 

. 

• 

0/1  _ 

The  beet  of  Grundy's  reviewers  were  almost  unanimously  un- 
favorable in  their  criticisms.  They  failed  to  see  anything  of  value 
in  his  work,  either  actually  or  potentially.  Shaw,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, was  the  most  violent  of  those  who  censured  Grundy.  The 
brilliant  critic  was  unable  to  sympathize  with  Grundy  in  any  respect, 
to  meet  him  at  any  point.  He  could  see  only  Grundy's  pronounced 
didacticism  and  his  old-fashioned  methods.  He  considered  the  drama- j 
tist's  art  crude  and  his  pictures  of  life  false.  J.  T.  Grein  was 

I 

another  unfavorable  critic.  He  spoke  also  of  the  lack  of  human 

j 

nature  in  Grundy's  plays  and  of  the  falsity  of  his  plot3.  Grein 

j 

said  of  The  Degenerates  that  "it  had  no  justification  for  existence".! 

i 

Perhaps  writing  as  they  did,  when  Grundy's  work  was  being  far  sur- 
passed Grein  and  Shaw  had  ample  reason  for  their  almost  savage  crit- 
icism. What  they  did  not  take  into  account  was  that  he  was  in  a 
measure  responsible  for  those  who  were  surpassing  him. 

But  men,  who  reviewed  Grundy's  work,  when  it  was  decided-  j 

l 

ly  in  advance  of  its  time,  were  little  kinder  to  him.  Although 
mixed  in  with  the  overwhelming  condemnation  of  his  ingenuity,  his 

I 

fondness  for  stage-types  and  his  adherence  to  the  well-made  play, 
there  are  brief  tributes  to  his  brain  power  and  to  his  knowledge  of  j 
life,  the  accent  is  on  the  faults  rather  than  on  the  virtues  of  the 
man's  work.  The  opinion  seems  to  have  been  fairly  general  that 
"Mr.  Grundy  writes  just  well  enough  to  win  public  acceptance."4 
The  newspapers  were  adherents  of  the  disbelief  in  the  worth  of 
Grundy’s  plays.  Grundy  himself  wrote,  "The  majority  of  the  news- 
papers - in  London,  at  any  rate  - cannot  honestly  applaud  my  orig- 

4 

The  Athenaeum,  1883-1,  p.  517. 


-25- 

inal  work;  and  the  public  will  not  take  the  trouble  to  judge  whether 

5 

the  newspapers  are  right.”  The  majority  of  the  reviewers  failed 
to  see  that  Grundy's  work  was  an  advance  over  that  which  had  pre- 
ceded it  and  that  it  might  have  an  influence  on  future  work.  A 
few  critics  of  recent  date,  notably  Dickinson  and  Courtney,  have 
realized  that  Grundy  was  a forerunner  of  our  modern  dramatists.  The 

i 

simple  fact  that  he  began  writing  before  Jones,  Pinero,  Shaw,  Gals- 

* 

worthy  or  Wilde,  plays  of  situation  and  idea,  plays  of  excellent 
construction, of  crisp  and  forceful  dialogue,  comedies  that  were  not  j 
farces  and  social  plays  of  real  dramatic  value,  proves  that  his  world 

i 

must  have  been  significant,  if  not  in  itself  at  least  in  the  in- 

i 

fluence  which  it  must  have  had  on  later  dramatists. 

i 

In  Grundy’s  first  period  from  1872  until  1886,  he  wrote 
twenty-six  plays,  thirteen  of  which  were  original,  ten  adaptations 
and  three  librettos.  The  work  done  in  this  period  is  peculiarly 
interesting  because  in  it  are  many  resemblances  to  plays  written 

i 

i 

at  a much  later  date.  Although  Grundy's  plays  bear  many  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  time  and  show  clearly  that  they  were  written 
in  the  'seventies  and  'eighties,  they  have  at  the  sarnie  time  many 
of  the  marks  of  play3  written  by  more  eminent  playwrights  in  the 

j 

i 

’nineties  and  even  early  in  the  twentieth  century.  They  are  parti- 
cularly in  advance  of  their  time  in  their  emphasis  on  the  idea  or 
thesis  play  and  in  the  development  which  they  show  of  high  comedy. 

It  is  perhaps  significant  that  the  play,  A Little  Change, 
with  which  in  1872  Grundy  began  his  dramatic  career  was  not  adapta- 
tion. The  trend  of  his  mind  was,  at  the  beginning,  I think,  orig- 

5 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1897,  introduction,  p.  XVII. 


■ 


. 1 

1 


I 


. . 


I 


' 

. 1 


-26- 


inal.  The  reviewer  of  The  Athenaeum  spoke  of  the  originality  of 
the  play  and  emphasized  the  fact  that  it  borrowed  nothing  from 
earlier  drama.  The  story  is  that  of  a bride  who  cures  her  bored 
husband  of  flirting  by  playing  the  same  game.  The  play  is  slight 
and  shows  comparatively  little  promise  of  what  Grundy  was  to  do. 
Its  chief  merits  are  its  clever,  clean  cut  dialogue,  its  concise-  ; 
ness  and  its  economy  of  character  and  action.  The  satire,  which 
was  to  be  prominent  in  Grundy’s  later  plays,  is  also  apparent 
here.  There  is  wit,  too,  but  wit  which  struck  the  Englishman  of  i 

I 

the  ‘seventies  as  being  “flavored  with  ill-humor  and  rudeness". 

}! 

At  one  place  Mrs.  Plunger  says  to  the  newly  married  husband:  "But  I 

he  would  never  marry  such  a girl." 

Edwin  (the  husband) 

Although  he’d  get  engaged  to  her? 

j 

Mrs . Plunger 

Oh  dear,  nol  Captain  Plunger  is  a man  of  fine  morality.  ; 

I 

Edwin 

I always  though  he  was  that  sort  of  man. 

I 

i 

The  piece  was,  however,  popular  and  was,  on  the  whole 
a very  good  although  not  brilliant  beginning  for  a young  dramatist 
of  twenty-four. 

The  next  play.  Slaves  of  the  Ring  - which  I must  treat 
wholly  through  reviews  - did  not  appear  until  1894  but  was  writ- 
ten in  1876.  At  that  time  it  presented  so  advanced  a view  that 
it  was  refused  by  all  the  London  managers.  In  1894,  Mr.  Archer 
said  of  it  that  "fifteen  years  ago  it  would  have  been  epoch- 
making;  today,  it  brings  with  it  a faint  odour  of  the  pigeon- 
hole."5 It  is  distinctly  a thesis  play,  a play  of  ideas,  dealing 

5 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1895,  p.7. 


: 

. 

s 

. 

9 

1 

. 

; 


-27- 


ae  it  does  with  the  indissolubility  of  the  marriage  tie,  a theme 
which  was  to  be  treated  numberless  times  later  but  which  was  in 
1876  spoken  of  with  hushed  voices.  Mr.  Archer  said  these  people 
are  not  "slaves  of  the  ring;  they  are  slaves  of  their  own  and  each 
other's  passions."  Such  an  interpretation  would  make  Grundy's 
idea  even  more  subtle  and  psychological  than  a mere  concrete  treat-  I 
ment  of  the  unbreakableness  of  the  marriage  bond.  Mr.  Archer  spoke 
also,  even  in  1894,  of  the  admirable  construction  of  the  piece.  He 

i 

wrote,  "The  second  act  is  probably  the  most  original  and  powerful 
piece  of  writing  Mr.  Grundy  has  ever  done.  It  rises  to  the  very 

!j 

summit  of  the  drama  of  situation,  of  emotion  in  the  abstract,  as 

i 

distinct  from  the  drama  of  character.  From  the  entrance  of  Cap- 

i 

tain  Douglas  onward,  it  simply  bristles  with  dramatic  moments,  and 

there  is  a touch  of  really  poetic  imagination  in  the  scene  of 

r 

Ruth's  delirium.  Had  this  scene  been  adequately  acted  by  Mr. 

Calhoun  and  Mr.  Gilbert  Hare,  it  would  have  converted  a success 

6 

of  esteem  into  a great  and  memorable  triumph." 

Quite  different  is  Mr.  Shaw's  criticism,  which  classifies!1 

(I 

the  play  as  not  a "work  of  art  at  all,  but  a mere  contrivance  for 
filling  the  theatrical  bill."  The  difference  in  appreciation  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  Shaw  was  judging  the  play  by  the  standards  of 
1904,  whereas  Archer  not  only  saw  it  in  the  light  of  the  period 
in  which  it  was  produced,  but  also  saw  what  it  might  have  been  had 
it  been  acted  when  it  was  written.  "In  that  fact  " [the  rejection 
of  Slaves  of  the  Ring  in  1876],  said  Mr.  Archer,  "lies  Grundy's 
best  excuse  for  ten  years  of  intellectual  lethargy.  He  was  ready 
and  eager  to  lead  the  forlorn  hope;  it  is  not  his  fault  that  he 
6 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1895,  p.  11 


! 


-38- 


was  denied  the  opportunity . If,  because  it  was  not  then  produced, 
this  play  could  not  have  a direct  influence  on  later  dramatists 
it  however  shows  clearly  the  potential  ability  of  a mind  interested 
in  and  ready  to  grapple  with  real  problems. 

Thus  denied  a market  for  his  original  work,  Grundy  fell 
back  on  adaptation  and  on  February  3,  1879,  brought  out  The  Snow- 
ball from  Oscar , ou  Le  Mari  qui  Trompe  Sa  Femme . by  Scribe  and 
Duvergne.  Even  in  adaptation,  Grundy  was  not  to  be  denied  some 
merit  of  originality.  Artificial  as  is  the  situation  of  the  play, 
it  nevertheless  introduces  plenty  of  good  fun  and  sparkling  dialo- 
gue. "As  adapter  of  these  plays,"  writes  Dickinson,  "Grundy  deserves 
more  than  the  credit  that  goes  to  the  purveyor  - In  The  Snowball 
he  introduced  much  of  that  ingenuity  in  high  comedy  that  Pinero  has 
represented  in  his  best  work."®  Certainly,  Grundy's  work  is  a 
good  illustration  of  the  aesthetics  of  farce  of  which  Pinero  dream- 
ed. The  play  tells  the  story  of  Felix  Featherstone , who  thinking  jj 

to  frighten  his  wife,  writes  a note  for  an  appointment.  He  is  made  j; 

II 

to  think  that  the  rather  compromising  note  has  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  maid  Penelope.  Without  the  other  knowing  it,  Penelope  j| 
backed  by  Mrs.  Featherstone  on  one  side  and  Felix’s  uncle  on  the 
other,  threatens  to  expose  to  his  wife  what  he  has  done  unless  he  j 
gives  his  consent  to  the  marriage  of  his  ward  to  the  man  Mrs. 
Featherstone  or  the  uncle  wants.  A great  many  complications  en- 
sue, the  snowball  of  deception  grows  larger  and  larger  until  fi- 
nally Featherstone  is  forced  to  confess.  Beneath  all  the  some- 
times bewildering  twists  and  turns  in  the  play,  there  is  a great 


8 


Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1895,  p.  7. 

Dickinson,  Contemporary  Drama  of  England,  p.  87. 


J 


1 

! 

» 

V 

• 

£ 

, 

• 

. f 

-29- 


deal  of  real  humor  and  some  bits  of  excellent  characterization. 

Mrs.  Featherstone , as  the  type  of  clear,  resourceful,  fun-loving 
woman,  is  particularly  convincing.  Felix  himself  tears  about  a 
bit  too  much,  is  too  driven  by  circumstances  to  appear  much  more 
than  a whirling  dervish.  The  dialogue  is  exceedingly  good,  not 
quite  so  brittle  as  in  some  of  Grundy’s  plays  and  more  humanly  re- 
vealing. Pinero’s  dialogue  in  his  court  farces  is  much  the  same. 

His  men  and  women  are  not  so  clearly  drawn  or  so  convincing,  I 
think,  as  those  in  this  farcical  comedy  of  Grundy's.  The  Magis- 
trate possesses  the  same  ingenious  turns  and  twists  of  plot  with-  j 

i 

out  any  more  effective  characterization.  Pinero's  play  is  more 
English,  dealing  as  it  does  with  characters  who  are  typically 

l 

> 

English.  There  is  more  of  the  extreme  in  Pinero;  a character, 
eminently  respectable  is  made  to  appear  in  disgraceful  circum- 

i 

stances,  whereas  Featherstone,  in  Grundy's  play,  although  quite 

I 

conceited,  is  not  so  puffed  up  as  the  magistrate.  For  the  edition  j 

of  The  Magistrate  published  in  1892,  Mr.  Malcolm  C.  Salaman  wrote  I 

i) 

that  Pinero  had  created  a "really  new  and  original  order  of  Eng- 

I 

lish  comic  play."  Although  Grundy  took  the  idea  of  his  play  from  j 

the  French,  to  him  belongs,  I think,  the  credit  of  really  launch-  j 

j 

this  comedy  of  many  and  complicated  situations,  of  gentle  satire,  j 
of  brilliant  dialogue  and  of  effective  if  not  deep  characteriza- 
tion. 

In  connection  with  the  dialogue  of  The  Snowball  a re- 
semblance may  be  traced,  I believe,  to  the  dialogue  of  Oscar 
Wilde's  The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest.  The  almost  breathless 
give  and  take  of  the  conversation  in  many  places  bears  a striking 

likeness  to  that  brilliant  varnishing  of  Wilde's.  The  bacon 


-30- 


scene  in  Grundy's  play  is  decidedly  similar  to  the  muffin  scene  in 
Wilde's;  both,  of  course,  may  he  finally  traced  back  to  the  cup  and 
saucer  comedy  of  Robertson.  The  manner  of  the  two  scenes  is  very 
different  from  Robertson's,  however.  An  example  may  show  the  re- 
semblance. From  The  Snowball , Act  II.  Felis  comes  down,  desperate- 
ly afraid  that  hie  wife  knows  everything.  His  friend,  Harry,  is 
eating  breakfast. 

Harry 

Oh,  pooh,  you  take  this  matter  much  too  seriously.  Have 
some  breakfast. 

Felix 

I have  no  appetite. 

Harry 

Delicious  bacon.  (Helps  himself) 

Felix 

Bacon  - don't  mention  it! 

Harry 

Why  not? 

Felix 

Man,  you  don't  know  how  ill  I am.  The  very  thought  of 
bacon  is  disgusting. 

Harry 

Cheer  up,  my  boy.  Your  wife  knows  nothing  yet. 

Felix 

You  think  so? 

Harry 

I am  certain  of  it,  from  her  manner. 

Felix 

Then  I am  respited. 

Harry 

Don't  talk  in  that  way.  Anyone  would  think  you  had 
committed  murder  at  the  very  least.  What  is  it,  after 
all? 

Felix 

It  is  a more  serious  business  than  you  know  of. 


-31- 

Harry 

I must  have  a bit  more  bacon. 

Felix  (recoiling) 

Don’t l A frightful  circumstance  occurred  last  night. 

And  this  from  The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest,  Act  II. 

Jack 

How  can  you  sit  there,  calmly  eating  muffins  when  we  are 
in  this  horrible  trouble.  I can't  make  out.  You  seem  to 
me  perfectly  heartless. 

Algernon 

Well,  I can't  eat  muffins  in  an  agitated  manner.  The 
butter  would  probably  get  on  my  cuffs.  One  should  always 
eat  muffins  quite  calmly.  It  is  the  only  way  to  eat  them. 

Jack 

I say  it's  perfectly  heartless  your  eating  muffins  at  all, 
under  the  circumstances. 

If  a definite  line  of  influence  may  not  be  traced  here, 
at  least  an  interesting  parallelism  exists.  If  one  is  to  believe 
Mr.  Shaw,  "the  general  effect” of  Wilde's  play  ”is  that  of  a farci- 
cal comedy  dating  from  the  'seventies,  unplayed  then  because  it 

m9 

was  too  clever  and  too  decent.  In  that  case,  Wilde's  play  would 
go  back  to  meet  Grundy's  instead  of  Grundy's  going  forward  to  meet 

Wilde's. 

In  Honour  Bound,  a one  act  play  suggested  by  Scribe's 
five  act  drama  Une  Chaine  was  produced  in  1880.  The  way  in  which 
Grundy  has  condensed,  simplified  and  Anglicized  Scribe's  work  is 
admirable.  In  Honour  Bound  is  important,  I think  for  two  reasons, 
for  its  form  and  for  its  idea.  The  story  is  briefly  that  of 
Philip  Graham,  who,  after  a long  journey,  returns  to  visit  Sir 
George  Carlyon,  a barrister.  Unknown  to  Sir  George  (who  does, 
however,  know  that  Philip  left  England  because  of  an  unfortunate 

Shaw,  Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays.  Vol.  I,  p.  33. 


9 


. 

1 


l 


1 


I 


I 


f 


I 


r 


= 


-33- 

love  affair),  Philip  has  been  in  love  with  Sir  George’s  wife. 

Philip  is  now  very  much  in  love  with  Rose  Dalrymple,  a niece  and 
ward  of  Sir  George's.  Before  he  will  consent  to  the  marriage.  Sir 
George  insists  on  Philip's  securing  a signed  release  from  the  other 
woman.  Lady  Carlyon,  who  has  overheard  part  of  the  conversation 
but  who  does  not  know  that  Sir  George  is  the  guardian  of  the  girl 
Philip  loves,  writes  the  letter.  Sir  George,  who  has  by  this  time 
guessed  the  whole  affair,  destroys  the  letter  and  gives  his  consent 
to  the  marriage  of  Rose  and  Philip.  In  form,  the  play  begins  with 
the  downward  sweep,  which  Dickinson  said  Grundy  introduced  into 
England.  Much  has  happened,  in  fact  a whole  play,  before  the  story 
opens.  The  piece  is,  moreover,  a good  one-act  comedy.  Although 
it  is  a bit  more  complicated  and  crowded  in  action  than  the  modern 
one-act  play,  it  is  undoubtedly  a forerunner  of  the  latter  in  its 
economy  of  character  - there  is  not  even  a superfluous  butler  - in 
its  arresting  theme  and  in  its  swiftness  of  action  and  characteri- 
zation. 

The  situation  is,  moreover,  new  and  interesting,  and 

one  which,  in  the  days  when  such  plays  as  Our  Boys  and  Mary  Warner  j 

j 

were  popular,  must  have  been  a shock  to  British  cant.  That  Grundy  j 
realized  the  difficulty  of  putting  such  a play  on  the  English 
stage  is  shown  when,  in  In  Honour  Bound  mention  is  made  of  a re- 
view which  declared  an  English  version  of  Une  Chaine  was  impossi- 
ble because  its  "vivid  but  unwholesome  pictures  of  life  have  hap- 
pily no  relation  to  the  chaste  beauty  of  our  English  home."  Such 
was  the  way  in  which  the  average  sentimental  Englishman  of  the 
eighties  liked  to  think  of  his  native  land.  The  speech  of  Sir 
George  must  have  al30  shocked  the  Englishman  who  liked  in  theory 


. 

# 


. 


• 

-33- 


to  believe  in  only  one  love. 

"If",  said  Sir  George,  "that  young  man  had  buried  his 
first  love  when  it  was  dead,  he  wouldn’t  have  been  haunted  by  its 
ghost.  When  passion  is  burnt  out,  sweep  the  hearth  clean,  and  clear 
away  the  ash  before  you  set  alight  another  fire.  It  is  a law  of 
life."  (How  many  dramatists  were  speaking  of  laws  of  life  in  1880?) 
"Old  things  give  way  to  new.  The  loves  of  yesterday  are  like  these 
faded  flowers,  fit  only  to  be  cast  into  the  flames.  That  is  the 
moral  and  I call  it  excellent." 

Dickinson  in  speaking  of  this  play  wrote:  "In  In  Honour 
Bound  . the  story  of  a husband  wittily  and  pointedly  cross-examin- 
ing a young  man  who  has  been  the  lover  of  his  wife,  while  the  new 
fiancee  stands  ready  to  enter  the  room  we  have  the  theme  of  The 
Profligate  and  The  Second  Mrs.  Tangueray In  The  Profligate  we 
have  certainly  the  same  general  idea,  although  in  Pinero's  play  it 
is  the  wife  who  unknowingly  cross-examines  the  girl  who  has  been 
her  husband's  mistress.  Pinero  in  1887  felt  that  the  time  was  just 
ripe  for  a play  of  this  nature;  Grundy  dared  to  do  much  the  same 

I 

thing  seven  years  before.  The  Profligate  is  the  more  sensational 
of  the  two;  it  is  more  full  of  sin  and  shame.  The  characters  in 
Grundy's  play  are  toned  down;  they  possess  characteristics  peculiar 
to  themselves  and  are  neither  altogether  good  or  bad.  On  the  whole 
I am  inclined  to  think  that  In  Honour  Bound  is  the  more  artistic 
if  the  less  powerful  of  the  two.  If,  indeed.  In  Honour  Bound  were 
more  natural  in  plot  and  if  it  were  a trifle  more  ambitious,  it 
might  join  hands  with  The  Second  Mrs.  Tangueray.  The  fact  that  the 
former  play  dealt  with  an  important  subject,  hitherto  carefully 

10 

Dickinson,  Contemporary  Drama  of  England,  p.  87. 


. 


' : 

. 


. 


« 

. 


i 


-34- 


avoided,  must  have  prepared  the  way  for  Pinero's  work. 

Of  the  five  plays  written  between  1880  and  1883,  Dust , 
mainly  because  of  the  reception  it  received,  is  the  only  one  of  im- 
portance. The  reviewer  of  The  Athenaeum  spoke  of  the  "vulgarity 
and  cynicism  of  the  characters  who  end  by  inspiring  greed."  The 
theme  is  that  of  Jonson's  Volpone  , a study  of  human  greed.  But 
Grundy  failed,  where  Jonson  succeeds.  The  reviewer  disapproved  of 
Grundy’s  attempt  to  make  whimsical  "gross  selfishness  and  greed." 

In  all  likelihood  Grundy,  knowing  the  temper  of  the  time  and  render- 
ed cautious  by  the  refusal  of  the  theatre  to  accept  anything  serious 
thought  to  camouflage  his  portrait  of  human  lust  for  wealth.  Dust , 
in  spite  of  this  attempt  struck  the  reviewers  as  being  neither 
"agreeable  nor  edifying."  "It  is  to  be  hoped,"  said  one  critic, 
"that  the  attempt  to  extract  farce  from  subjects  of  this  kind  will 
not  be  renewed. " 

On  September  8,  1883,  The  Glass  of  Fashion,  Grundy* s first 
really  ambitious  original  comedy  appeared.  This  play  was  received 
with  varied  acclamation  by  the  critics,  some  of  whom  praised  it 
highly,  while  others  condemned  it  almost  without  qualification. 

These  reviews  ranged  from  that  in  The  Saturday  Review  which  spoke 
of  the  play  as  "meagre  sort  of  comedy  intrigue"  to  the  one  by 
William  Archer  who  praised  it  as  an  admirable  specimen  of  satiric 
comedy,  bright,  vigorous,  trenchant  and  relevant  at  every  point  to 
the  social  life  of  the  day."  Between  these  extremes  lies  the  com- 
ment of  the  reviewer  in  The  Athenaeum  who  wrote,  "When  a man  has 
given  the  world  a piece  which  is  fairly  ingenious  and  stimulating, 
which  contains  one  eminently  effective  if  artificial  situation. 


which  is  spiced  with  clever  dialogue,  and  which,  moreover,  has  an 


' 





. 


I 


• .aawpi 

' 

1 


. 

! 

. 

. 


. i 


4 


■ 


-35- 


appetizing  amount  of  actuality  he  may  be  credited  with  respectable 
accomplishment. M 

Grundy  'was  too  much  of  an  idealist  to  be  satisfied  with 
mere  respectability.  The  review  does,  however,  give  the  dramatist 
a fair  measure  of  praise.  The  play  is  stimulating  and  effective 
in  spite  of  its  sometimes  bewildering  ingenuity;  it  possesses  clever 
dialogue  and  although  often  artificial,  it  satirizes  successfully 
the  social  life  of  the  day.  Beneath  the  comedy  there  is  a serious 
moral  purpose  to  satirize  two  evils  of  society,  the  yellow  society 
journal  and  the  love  of  gambling.  Perhaps  the  play  is  less  artis- 
tic because  the  purpose  is  obvious,  but,  in  having  such  an  object, 
Grundy  was  the  forerunner  of  Galsworthy,  Shaw  and  other  more  artis- 
tic playwrights.  Grundy’s  own  hand  is  too  apparent  in  the  satire, 
he  projected  his  own  personality  into  his  plays  too  decidedly  to 
be  able  to  make  them  truly  artistic.  He  lacked  artistic  detach- 
ment, the  ability  to  see  life  from  a distance  clearly  and  without 
pre  judice . 

The  story  is  that  of  a young  society  woman,  Mrs.  Tre van- 
ion,  who  after  getting  deeply  into  debt  through  gambling,  is  afraid 
to  tell  her  husband.  Colonel  Trevanion.  A misunderstanding  takes 
place  when  her  husband  is  made  to  believe  through  a scurrilous 
journal.  The  Glass  ofFhshion,  that  his  wife  is  visiting  the  stu- 
dio of  a rascal  Prince  Borowski  and  when  Mrs.  Trevanion  is  made  to 
believe  by  the  same  prince  that  her  husband  has  lost  his  money. 

The  strongest  point  in  the  play  occurs  when  Mrs.  Trevanion* s sister 
Peg  is  discovered  in  the  studio  after  Nina,  Mr3.  Trevanion  herself 
has  slipped  out.  The  situation  is  solved  when  in  a fit  of  passion 

at  Colonel  Trevanion,  Prince  Borowski  reveals  to  Nina  that  she  is 


I 


. 

* 


1 


. 

- 

• 

-36- 

an  illegitimate  child  and  therefore  has  no  fortune.  The  satire  of 
the  society  journal  is  very  cleverly  brought  out,  although  the  at- 
tempts of  Macadam  to  hold  his  editor  Prior  Jenkyn  within  hounds  of 
decency  are  repeated  almost  too  often  to  he  funny.  The  characteri- 
zation is  varied;  some  of  it  is  very  good  and  some  is  quite  had. 
Prince  Borowski  is  overdrawn  to  the  point  of  caricature,  whereas 
Peg  the  sister  of  Mrs.  Trevanion  is  skilfully  and  sympathetically 
depicted.  The  dialogue  is,  as  always  in  Grundy's  plays,  crisp, 
clear  and  ringing,  although  not  always  dramatically  consistent.  The 
scenes,  many  of  them,  are  undeniably  effective,  especially  the  one 
at  the  end  of  the  third  act,  in  which  Peg  instead  of  Mrs.  Trevanion 
is  discovered  in  Borowski's  studio.  From  the  point  of  influence, 
however,  the  thoughtful  satire  is  the  most  important  thing  in  the 
play. 

The  Silver  Shield  another  original  comedy  of  three  acts, 
produced  May  IS,  1885,  seems  to  me  to  show  an  advance  over  The  Glass 
of  Fashion  . Mr.  Archer,  however,  believes  it  to  have  been  an  earl- 
ier work,  and  speaks  of  it  as  a play  of  "masterly  dialogue  but  of 
mediocre  plot."  The  characterization  and  the  dialogue  in  this  play 
seem  to  me  much  better  than  in  The  Glass  of  Fashion.  The  Athenaeum 
praised  it,  saying  that  a "long  step  in  dramatic  advancement  had 
been  taken  with  the  presentation  of  a play  which  was  not  a farcical 
but  genuine  comedy."  The  review  spoke  also  of  the  "amusing  and  ap- 
propriate dialogue"  as  well  as  of  the  consistency  of  characteriza- 
tion. Even  The  Saturday  Review  gave  this  rather  left-handed  compli 
ment,  "The  play  has  very  distinct  merits,  and  though  its  defects 
are  even  more  prominent,  they  are  well  within  the  author's  power  to 
eradicate . " 


-37- 


The8e  faults  are  the  constant  introduction  of  a couple 
of  superfluous  low  comedy  characters,  a few  rather  startling  coin- 
cidences, and  a wedding  ring  which  after  lying  on  the  floor  for 
many  minutes  is  still  warm.  Two  plots,  both  cf  which  are  intro- 
duced in  the  first  act,  run  parallel  through  the  play.  Wed,  a 
young  dramatist,  is  disowned  by  his  father  Sir  Humphrey  for  marry- 
ing Sir  Humphrey's  ward  Lucy.  In  the  same  act  Tom  Potter,  a young 
painter,  who  after  a long  separation  believes  his  wife  dead,  dis- 
covers her  in  an  actress,  Alma  Blake.  When  Wed,  in  writing  a play 
for  Alma,  writes  a love  letter  as  part  of  the  action,  Lucy  dis- 
covering the  letter,  believes  her  husband  in  love  with  Alma  and 
leaves  him.  Alma,  having  had  somewhat  the  same  situation  in  her 
life,  divines  the  trouble,  but  is  unable  to  find  Lucy.  But  when 
Alma  quarrels  with  her  manager  Dick  over  the  amount  of  her  salary, 
Dick  threatens  to  hire  another  actress,  who  is  discovered  to  be 
Lucy.  A reconciliation  is  then  effected  between  Tom  and  Alma,  and 
between  Ned  and  Lucy. 

The  play  is  interesting  for  its  idea  and  for  the  insight 
which  it  gives  into  Grundy's  owrn  experience.  Here,  Grundy,  in 
writing  of  people  and  of  a life  which  he  knew  thoroughly,  makes 
use  of  some  very  effective  and  telling  characterization.  Alma, 
the  actress  with  her  many  tantrums  but  genuinely  good  heart,  is 
a real  person.  Dodson  Dick  the  manager,  is  a bit  caricatured, 
but  forms  an  amusing  picture  of  the  manager  with  whom  Grundy  had 
to  deal.  At  one  point  Dick  brings  back  Ned's  play  unopened. 

Dick 

Capital  comedy  - won’t  do  at  all. 

Ned 

Why  you've  not  opened  it. 


I 


. 


-38- 


Alma 

No  need  to  open  it  - won't  do  at  alii 

Then  Dick  speaks  of  the  dramatic  criticism  of  a play, 
which  Grundy  evidently  intended  for  a satire  on  the  criticism  of 
the  day. 

Dick  (reading) 

Morning  News:  "It  is  not  often  that  we  have  to  chronicle 

so  signal  a fiasco.”  Daily  Post;  "Seldom  of  late  years 
has  a first  night  audience  been  so  emphatic  in  its  con- 
demnation." Evening  Mail:  "The  play  is  absolutely  desti- 
tute of  merit . " 

Then  Dick  makes  Ned  a typical  proposal. 

Dick 

I'll  make  you  a proposition.  If  you'll  let  Sparkle  (a 
hack  playwright]]  look  over  your  comedy,  write  up  Blake's 
part,  re-cast  the  plot,  and  smarten  up  the  dialogue,  I 
bring  the  piece  out  under  Sparkle's  name,  pay  him  the 
fees  - and  - and  your  fortune's  made. 

Grundy's  reaction  to  the  accusation  made  by  many  cri- 
tics that  he  was  a cynic  is  shown  in  this  speech: 

"And  what's  a cynic?  A poor  devil,  who's  fool  enough 
to  put  into  words  the  harshness  wise  men  put  into  their  deeds, 
and  fool  enough  to  put  into  deeds  the  kindness  wise  men  put  into 
their  words.  Your  cynic  is  the  softest  of  mankind  and  as  a rule, 
he's  been  in  love  before  he  was  a cynic." 

Grundy's  idealism  comes  out  strongly  in  this  play.  It 
is  a man  of  ideals  who  asks  that  we  understand  before  we  judge, 
arri.  who  believes  that  with  full  comprehension  of  the  facts,  we 
cannot  criticise  severely.  The  symbolism  of  the  shield  with  two 
sides,  gold  and  silver,  is  sometimes  overdone,  but  it  is  effective 
in  most  cases.  It  is,  moreover  a new  element  in  English  drama  , 


an  element  which  ties  up  with  the  symbolism  being  developed  by 
Ibsen  on  the  continent.  Grundy's  use  of  symbols  is  less  artistic, 


' 


' 


-39- 


but  none  the  less  genuine  and  valuable  in  that  it  opened  new  paths 
to  the  English  dramatist. 

The  Silver  Shield  closed  Grundy’s  period  of  apprentice- 
ship and  also  his  time  of  greatest  influence.  He  had  forged  ahead, 
given  new  ideas  and  forms  for  other  dramatists  to  follow.  He  had 
perhaps  achieved  his  most  notable  successes  in  the  realm  of  comedy. 
In  the  dialogue  of  In  Honour  Bound.  The  Snowball  and  The  Silver 
Shield  he  had  accomplished  much  in  conciseness,  directness,  clever- 
ness and  dramatic  consistency.  In  comic  value  he  had  for  the  most 
part  done  away  with  the  stock  comic  characters  and  in  their  place, 
introduced  a comedy  which  depended  on  ingenious  situations  and 
real  personalities.  He  had  done  much  for  the  play  of  ideas,  of 
ideas  which  touched  beneath  the  surface.  In  The  Silver  Shield. 

The  Glass  of  Fashion  and  In  Honour  Bound,  beneath  the  ingenuity  and 
the  sharp,  humorous  dialogue  lie  definite  situations  and  ideas.  At 
this  time  he  was  practically  the  only  man  doing  this.  But  the 
change  was  coming.  In  1864,  Jones'  Saints  and  Sinners  appeared  and 
in  1889,  Pinero’s  The  Profligate.  Ibsen  was  being  played  on  the 
continent  and  was  soon  to  come  to  England.  Grundy's  period  of 
struggle  was  over.  He  was  to  be  allowed  to  do  more  or  less  that 
he  wanted  to.  The  question  was  now  whether  he  would  be  able  to. 


# 

• 

. 

-40- 


IV. 

Grundy,  as  Exponent  of  His  Age. 

It  is  difficult  to  build  an  iron  fence  around  a man's 
work,  or  to  set  up  a milestone  and  say  this  far  his  influence  ex- 
tends and  no  farther.  Influence  is,  moreover,  a subtle,  elusive 
thing;  it  has  a way  of  creeping  out  where  one  least  expects  it  and 
of  refusing  to  be  bound  by  fences  or  limited  to  certain  districts. 

It  is  much  like  the  omnipresent  dandelion,  which  mysteriously  crops 
out  in  the  front  yard  just  when  one  thinks  it  finally  eradicated. 

In  like  manner,  Grundy's  work  although  of  more  potent  influence  be- 
fore 1886,  may  have  been  here  and  there  of  influence  in  the  nineties. 
In  the  latter  period,  however,  because  his  ideas  run  parallel  with 
those  of  his  contemporaries,  his  influence  counts  only  as  ideas 
appearing  simultaneously  react  on  each  other.  Mr.  Dickinson  has 
said,  "He  (Grundy)  is  always  fighting  his  time  or  falling  outside 
it.  He  lacked  the  flexibility  to  adapt  himself  to  his  age.”  ^ For 
a brief  period,  from  1886  to  1896,  Grundy,  if  he  did  not  conscious- 
ly adapt  himself  to  his  age,  did  at  least,  I believe,  fall  to  a 
large  extent  into  line  with  it.  The  drama  was  at  this  time  advanc- 
ing in  two  directions;  in  the  development  of  the  thesis  play,  or  the 
play  of  ideas,  and  in  the  development  of  the  play  dealing  with  psy- 
chological analysis  of  character.  These  two  principles  were  not, 
of  course,  incompatible  and  were,  in  fact,  often  combined  as  in 
Ibsen's  Hedda  Gabler  or  in  Shaw's  Candida.  In  using  the  well-made 
play  as  a vehicle  for  his  idea  and  in  giving  character  development 
second  place,  Grundy  was  tending  to  fall  behind  his  time,  but  in 

1 

Dickinson,  Contemporary  Drama  of  England,  p.  86-87 


. 

, 

' 

. 

• 

. 

• 

- 

. 

-41- 


ad.  he  ring  to  and  promoting  with  all  his  force  the  thesis  play,  he  was 
fully  in  accord  with  his  age.  He,  himself,  gave  voice  to  his  prin- 
ciples when  he  said,  ”Just  as  the  theatre  is  unsuited  to  the  subtle 
analysis  of  character,  it  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  posing  of 
problems  and  the  dramatic  discussion  of  themes.”2  In  tone  and  in 
atmosphere , in  the  earnest  desire  to  show  truthfully  some  evil  of 
society,  Grundy's  plays  of  this  period  may  be  compared  with  any  of 
the  social  plays  of  Jones,  Pinero,  and  even  of  Shaw  and  Galsworthy. 
Where  they  fall  short  - altho  a few  capably  drawn  characters  appear- 
is  in  their  failure  to  probe  beneath  the  surface  of  the  human  heart 
and  mind.  Other  dramatists  of  the  day  were,  however,  displaying 
much  the  same  characteristics.  The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray,  for  in- 
stance, altho  powerful  as  a thesis  play,  fails  to  give  entire  dra- 
matic consistency  to  the  character  of  Paula. 

Of  the  twenty-three  plays  Grundy  wrote  during  this  period, 
twelve  were  original,  one  a libretto  and  ten  adaptations.  In  re- 
alityonly  the  last  three  years  are  of  real  significance.  From 
1886  until  1893  only  three  plays  appeared  which  are  worthy  of  no- 
tice, A Fool's  Paradise,  The  Dean's  Daughter  and  A Pair  of  Specta- 
cles . Encouraged  by  the  fortune  which  came  to  him  in  1887  with 
the  production  of  the  Adelphi  melodrama  The  Bells  of  Haslemere 
Grundy  marked  time  with  a series  of  similar  pot-boilers  and  adapta- 
tions. But  in  the  years  from  1893  to  1696,  seven  plays  were  pro- 
duced, five  of  which  were  original  powerful  plays,  dealing  with 
some  problem  of  society.  Grundy  in  these  three  years  reached  the 
apex  of  his  career.  Had  he  been  able  to  abandon  the  well-made 
play,  he  might  have  achieved,  instead  of  the  sensational  glory  of 

i 

The  Theatre,  Vol.  27,  p.  200. 


I 


-42- 


Sowing  the  Wind  something  worthy  of  lasting  fame. 

Standing  out  from  the  theatrical  rubbish  of  the  seven 
years  during  which  Grundy  marked  time,  are  two  plays  A Fool’s 
Paradise  and  A Pair  of  Spectacles.  Another  play  The  Dean1 8 Daugh- 
ter may  be  noted  as  being  typical  of  most  of  the  work  Grundy  was 
producing  in  those  years.  The  latter  play  is  an  adaptation  by  F.C. 
Philips  and  Grundy  of  the  novel  The  Dean  and  His  Daughter  by 
Philips.  The  theme, the  evils  arising  from  a marriage  for  money 
instead  of  for  love,  possesses  some  measure  of  strength,  but  the 
characters  are  so  falsified,  so  obviously  stage  types  and  the  moti- 
vation is  at  times  so  faulty  that  the  play  becomes  a vague  unreal- 
ity. It  was,  however,  popular  because  of  its  brilliant  and  witty 
dialogue.  Nevertheless,  the  critic  of  the  Saturday  Review  objects 
to  it  not  because  it  is  ” untrue  to  life  but  because  it  is  not  in- 
teresting or  agreeable.” 

A year  and  a half  elapsed  from  the  presentation  of  _A 
Fool1 s Paradise  at  the  Greenwich  Prince  of  Wales  until  it  appear- 
ed at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  London  in  February,  1889.  The  play  is 
distinctive  as  Grundy’s  first  attempt  at  a tragic  ending.  It  is 
so  'written,  however,  that  we  fail  to  feel  the  tragedy  of  it  any 
more  than  Sir  Peter  who  philosophically  exclaims  after  Beatrice 
commits  suicide,  ”And  she  is  better  dead.”  In  Beatrice,  we  have 
an  unscrupulous  woman  of  the  Hedda  Gabler  type,  who,  motivated  by 
a jealous  pique  and  a desire  for  her  husband’s  money,  attempts  to 
poison  him.  Trapped  by  Sir  Peter,  the  family  physician,  she  calm- 
ly drinks  the  poison  herself  and  saying  "Good  night  to  all  of  you*, 
considerately  leaves  the  room  to  die.  The  sub-plot,  a love  affair 

between  Kate,  a nurse  and  companion,  and  Normantower,  a former 


* 


I 


. 

. 


-43- 

lover  of  Beatrice  is  well  linked  with  the  main  theme.  The  ending, 
although  only  mildly  tragic,  is  an  attempt  to  reintroduce  into 
English  drama  the  unhappy  ending.  Dickinson  writes:  "Grundy  very 

early  attempts  to  introduce  the  unhappy  ending  of  death  into  his 
adaptations  and  original  plays.  This  he  does  in  A Bunch  of  Violets 
and  A Fool 's  Paradise  and  Pinero  and  Jones  do  the  same  after  him, 
but  no  one  has  succeeded  in  making  the  English  audience  accept  the 
climacteric  death. The  moral  tone,  the  contention  that  the  "wages 
of  sin  is  death",  is  emphasized  throughout  the  play.  The  fault 
lies  in  the  weakness  of  the  heroine  and  in  the  failure  to  show  suf- 
ficient motivation  for  her  deed.  Beatrice  seems  to  be  dominated 
neither  by  love  nor  by  greed,  although  these  traits  are  given  as  the 
reason  for  her  action.  Kate,  on  the  other  hand,  is  admirably  drawn. 
Her  endeavor  to  be  calm  and  her  final  breaking  into  tears  when  she 
accused  Normantower  of  wanting  to  marry  her  for  money,  are  rather 
finely  handled.  Had  Grundy  made  of  Beatrice  as  distinct  a personal- 
ity the  play  would  be  comparable  to  dramas  of  Ibsen. 

A greater  contrast  could  hardly  be  found  than  that  be- 
tween the  sombre  morality  of  A Fool's  Paradise  and  the  bubbling, 
youthful  idealism  of  A Pair  of  Spectacles.  The  latter  play  re- 
flects, I think,  the  gentle  spirit  which  lay  beneath  the  harsh 
cynicism  and  bitterness  of  the  playwright.  It  is,  30  far  as  I 
know,  the  only  purely  whimsical  and  fantastic  thing  Grundy  ever 
did.  A Pair  of  Spectacles  is  frankly  a fairy-tale  - it  makes  no 
graver  pretensions  - with  an  allegorical  and  symbolical  undercur- 
rent. It  is  queer  that,  popular  as  the  play  proved  to  be,  Grundy 
did  not  attempt  more  in  the  same  vein.  The  play  is  a study  of  two 

3 

Dickinson,  Contemporary  Drama  of  England,  p.  88. 


•! 


- I 


moods  of  Benjamin  Goldfinch.  In  the  first,  disillusioned  by  the 
deceit  of  those  he  has  befriended,  he  cries,  "I  study  men  and  wo- 
raen  like  insects,  through  a microscope.  I take  diabolical  delight 
in  watching  them  squirm.  Worms  all  of  them.”  In  the  second  mood, 
restored  to  his  former  affability,  he  can  believe,  "If  there  be 
some  imposters  in  the  world  I'd  rather  trust  and  be  deceived  than 
suspect  and  be  mistaken."  Grundy,  unquestionably,  sympathizes  with 
the  latter  mood;  he  believes  that,  even  if  fraud  is  prevalent  in 
the  world,  men  oan  and  should  be  trusted.  Walkley  writes  of  the 
play,  after  tracing  its  origins  through  Terence,  Shadwell  and  Labich 
to  Grundy,  "Mr.  Grundy's  version  is  much  better  fun.  And  he  has 
added  innumerable  good  things  of  his  own  - --  --  --  --  He  has 
struck  a deeper  chord  than  Labiche  in  the  character  of  Goldfinch. 

He  has  sounded  the  note  of  seriousness,  a note  never  once  heard  in 
the  whole  repertory  of  Labiche."4 

Goldfinch  may  be  compared  with  Christopher  Wellwyn  of 
Galsworthy's  Pigeon.  The  Pigeon  has  much  the  same  theme  as  A Pair 
of  Spectacles,  the  relations  of  a confiding  generous  man  with  the 
deceit  of  the  world.  Goldfinch  orders  shoes  for  which  he  can  have 
no  conceivable  use  in  order  that  his  bootmaker  may  live;  Wellwyn 
is  willing  to  give  away  his  last  suit  of  clothes  to  the  man  who 
implores  his  aid.  Galsworthy,  however,  gets  beneath  the  surface 
of  Wellwyn’ s character  as  Grundy  does  not  with  Goldfinch.  Gals- 
worthy pokes  sly  fun  at  his  "pigeon"  through  the  characters  of 
the  three  ir re claimable s whom  Wellwyn  befriends.  Ann  and  the 
three  theorists  about  charity  in  The  Pigeon  correspond  in  A Pair 
of  Spectacles , to  the  character  cf  Gregory,  who  suspects  fraud 

4 Walkley,  Playhouse  Impressions ,. p.  138-143. 


' 


-45- 


back  of  every  request.  Where,  however,  Gregory  is  stingy  because 
of  natural  selfishness,  Ann's  parsimony  comes  from  necessity  and 
from  a desire  to  save  her  father  from  utter  ruin.  Wellwyn  is  as 
utterly  hopeless  on  the  side  of  unscientific  generosity  as  is  Gold- 
finch, but  he  is  more  human,  more  helpless.  There  is  less  moraliz- 
ing in  The  Pigeon  than  in  A Pair  of  Spectacles;  Wellwyn  gives  rath- 
er because  he  cannot  help  himself  than  from  any  conviction  that  his 
money  is  a trust.  Grundy  also  missed  an  opportunity  in  not  depict- 
ing more  clearly  the  people  who  duped  Goldfinch.  Galsworthy’s  French- 
man, his  flower-seller  and  her  husband  give  much  of  the  charm  to  his 
play.  There  are  possibly  other  points  of  contact  between  Gals- 
worthy and  Grundy.  Both  men  possess  idealism;  both  wish  to  right 
wrongs.  Both  dramatists,  moreover,  project  their  personalities 
into  their  plays;  neither  sees  life  clearly  from  a distance.  In 
Galsworthy  there  is,  however,  clearer  portrayal  of  character,  less 
of  the  moral  and  more  of  the  artistic  than  in  Grundy. 

We  come  now  to  Grundy’s  period  of  greatest  activity,  the 
period  in  which,  freed  from  restraint,  he  attempted  to  contribute 
something  of  value  to  the  serious  drama.  By  1893,  that  "epoch- 
making  play"  The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray  had  been  produced  and  The 
Independent  Theatre,  sponsored  by  Grein  was,  to  the  horror  of  many 
Englishmen  and  the  delight  of  a few,  producing  Ibsen,  Strindberg 
and  Shaw.  Grundy,  with  such  encouragement  given  to  serious  drama, 
left  farce  and  adaptation  and  began  to  produce  in  rapid  succession 
six  social  plays.  One,  The  Slaves  of  the  Ring,  had  been  written 
eighteen  years  earlier,  but  the  others  were  all  new.  Grundy  started 
the  group  with  a bombshell,  an  attack  on  the  English  treatment  of 
illegitimacy.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  had  an  old  story.  Sow- 


I 


-46- 


ing  the  Wind,  produced.  September  30,  1893,  was  a tremendous  sensa- 
tion. Grundy  pleads  and  pleads  well  the  cause  of  illegitimate 
children.  He  does  this,  moreover,  with  simplicity  and  sincerity. 
The  plot  of  the  play  lacks  the  artificiality,  the  bewildering 
moves  and  counter  moves  of  which  many  plays  of  Grundy  are  full. 
Again,  in  this  play,  we  have  two  characters  of  the  type  of  Gregory 
and  Goldfinch.  Again  we  see  the  triumph  of  good  over  evil.  Sow- 
ing the  Wind  is,  however,  a serious  play,  not  a fantasy  or  alle- 
gory. Brabazon,  who  is  willing  to  believe  good  of  everyone,  in- 
sists, nevertheless,  that  his  adopted  son  shall  marry  a girl  of 
spotless  reputation.  He,  therefore,  backed  by  the  cynic  and  mi- 
sogynist, Watkin,  refuses  to  let  Ned  marry  a singer  who  seems  to 
have  been  involved  with  Lord  Petworth,  an  old  roue.  But  when 
Brabazon  discovers  that  the  girl  Rosamond  is  his  child,  whose 
mother  he  deserted,  he  is  eager  to  welcome  her  to  his  heart  and 
to  have  Ned  marry  her. 

In  spite  of  many  old-fashioned  characteristics,  the 
play  is,  undoubtedly,  powerful  and  intensely  dramatic.  Grundy's 
"sens  de  theatre"  is  displayed  to  a remarkable  degree  in  this 
play.  The  Saturday  Review  spoke  of  it  as  the  "most  powerful  as 
well  as  the  most  serious  and  characteristic  thing  Grundy  had  done. 
Mr.  Archer  wrote,  "The  play  is  by  far  the  best  Mr.  Grundy  has  ever 
done,  because  in  it  he  has  abandoned  ingenuity  in  favor  of  simpli- 
city and  nature."5  The  plot  moves  with  a straightforwardness  and 
directness  that  is  admirable.  Although  some  of  the  long  didactic 
speeches  might  well  be  condensed,  practically  nothing  could  be 
omitted.  One  wishes  occasionally  that  Grundy  would  not  melodra- 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1893,  p.  232. 


> 

• ' 

• 

. 

. 


■ 


-47- 


mat  ize.  After  all,  middle  aged  men  of  Brabazon's  type,  do  not  fall 
on  their  knees,  crying,  "The  sin  was  mine  - the  punishment  is  hers! 

I sowed  the  wind  and  she  has  reaped  the  whirlwind.  Nay!  It  is  not 
yet  reaped!  Pity  me.  Heaven!  visit  thy  wrath  on  me,  not  - on  my 
child!”  Even  while  deploring  such  things,  which  were,  after  all, 
common  enough  in  the  drama  of  the  1 nineties,  one  cannot  help  ad- 
miring the  vigor  of  mind  displayed  in  the  working  out  of  the  plot 
and  that  idealism  which  led  to  ardent  championship  of  the  illegi- 
timate child.  The  close  of  the  third  act,  in  which  Brabazon  learns 
that  the  mother  of  the  girl,  whom  he  is  trying  to  persuade  not  to 
marry  his  adopted  son,  was  the  woman  he  deserted,  rises  to  an  in- 
tensely dramatic  pitch.  Undoubtedly,  there  is  something  of  melo- 
drama in  it,  but  it  carries  one  triumphantly  along  to  the  end. 

When  the  play  was  produced,  although  the  conclusion  was  guessed  long 
before  the  curtain  fell,  the  audience,  absorbed  by  the  rapid  human- 
ly appealing  action,  remained  to  the  end. 

The  next  play.  An  Old  Jew,  produced  three  months  later, 
is  noteworthy  for  its  satire  and  for  its  characterization.  In 
Julius  Stern,  a second  Monte  Cristo,  Grundy  would  seem  to  have  drawn 
a really  great  and  heroic  character.  Stern  becomes  by  the  end  of 
the  play  fantastic  and  shadowy,  but  he  nevertheless  dominates  the 
action.  Filon  said  that  "his  sadness,  his  wandering  and  mysterious 
life,  his  authority  of  voice  and  bearing,  that  fatal  gift  of  his 
for  turning  everything  he  touches  into  gold  point  to  some  symboli- 
cal intention.  It  is  no  longer  A Jew;  it  is  The  Jew  - the  Jew  re- 
habilitated and  becoming  now,  in  his  turn,  a dispenser  of  social 
justice."  The  theme  of  the  play,  that  of  a man  who,  after  leaving 

6 

Filon,  The  English  Stage,  p.  229. 


1 ! 

! 

1 

, 

■ 


-48- 


hia  faithless  wife,  is  unable  to  stay  far  from  hia  children  or  to 
keep  hia  hand  from  guiding  their  deatinies,  affords  an  opportunity 
for  a deep  analysis  of  human  virtue  and  vices.  Grundy  fails  to  go 
very  far  because  he  is  overcome  by  his  desire  to  satirize.  Mr. 
Archer  wrote  that  the  play  was  "clever  but  as  a work  of  art,  an  ef- 
fort of  thought,  it  breaks  down  at  almost  every  point.  It  has  by 
no  means  enhanced  my  esteem  for  Mr.  Grundy  as  an  observer,  a think- 
er or  a dramatic  artist."7  The  Saturday  Review,  on  the  other  hand, 
spoke  of  the  fineness  of  the  las-c  act,  of  the  effective  characteri- 
zation, and  of  the  boldness  and  originality  of  the  play.  What  seems 
to  have  kept  the  play  from  being  a true  piece  of  characterization 
and  a thoughtful  analysis  of  life,  was  the  fact,  that  at  one  point, 
the  theme  offered  Grundy  an  irresistible  opportunity  to  satirize 
newspaper  criticism.  A whole  act  which  passes  in  the  smoking  room 
of  a club  is  given  over  to  bitter  condemnation,  almost  to  abuse 
of  newspapers.  It  is  very  evident  from  Archer’s  review  that  he 
took  some  of  this  to  himself.  He  believed  that,  although  the  satire 
was  to  an  extent  justified,  it  was  not  fully  representative,  and 
that  it  marred  the  play  as  an  artistic  production.  An  Old  Jew  is 
another  play  with  a moral,  although,  as  Filon  points  out,  "it  does 
not  satisfy  ordinary  morality,  yet  leaves  a man  better  and  more 

strong."  "It  would  be  easy,"  he  continues,  "to  point  out  its  faults 

«8 

it  is  very  difficult  to  explain  its  charm." 

Four  months  passed  and  Grundy  was  again  ready  with  a play, 
dealing  with  the  weakness  of  the  social  structure.  A Bunch  of  Vio- 
lets founded  on  Octavo  Fe.uillet's  Mont  joy  e is  distinctive  for  its 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1894,  p.  11. 

Filon,  The  English  Stage,  p.  227. 


8 


. 


-49- 


terseness  of  style,  its  strength  and  sympathy  of  writing,  its  lack 
of  hero  or  any  outstanding  character  and  for  its  political  satire. 

The  satirical  element,  which  involves  a burlesque  labor  delegation 
and  the  enunciation  of  rather  peculiar  economic  principles  on  the 
part  of  Sir  Philip,  is  somewhat  of  a failure.  "To  a dramatist,” 
writes  Archer,  "who  is  really  up-to-date,  philanthropic  finance, 
with  its  political  side-issues,  evidently  offers  a fruitful  theme. 

But  'he  will  not  pour  his  matter  into  an  old  French  mould,  and  he 
will  try  to  obtain  something  of  a philosophic,  a scientific  under- 
standing of  the  situation,  before  proceeding  to  fashion  it  to  his 

Q 

artistic  ends."  Undoubtedly,  but  it  was  to  be  many  years  before 
such  plays  as  Galsworthy's  Strife  . treating  scientifically  the  la- 
bor problem,  were  to  appear.  Labor,  which  in  its  scientific  and  psy- 
chological aspects  was  a new  field  for  the  dramatist, was  treated  as 
accurately  by  Grundy  as  by  the  majority  of  playwrights  of  his  day. 

The  main  plot  of  A Bunch  of  Violets  deals  with  the  results  of  a 
double  bigamy  case.  Sir  Philip  and  Mrs.  Murgatroyd,  formerly  mar- 
ried, meet  again;  Sir  Philip  ruined  and  discovered  by  his  wife,  com- 
mits suicide.  The  play  is  built  like  a house  of  cards;  the  first  at- 
tempt at  examination  knocks  it  over.  The  action  is,  however,  so 
straightforward  and  the  dialogue  so  crisp  and  direct  that  the  play 
holds  the  interest  to  the  end.  Sir  Philip’s  refusal  to  part  with  his 
daughter’s  violets  even  to  save  himself  from  ruin  may  be  regarded 
as  sentimental  claptrap,  but  it  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the 
audience  of  the  'nineties.  Grundy  has  journalistic  quickness  of  per- 
ception and  ability  to  see  what  would  appeal  to  the  public. 

The  New  Woman,  produced  September  1,  1894,  was  greeted 

9 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1894,  p.  124. 


. 


♦ 


. 

' 


_____ 

. 


-50- 


by  an  almost  effusive  burst  of  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Archer. 
For  him,  the  play  marked  a return  of  Mr.  Grundy  to  the  ranks  of 
"live  dramatists”.  "Only  a few  years  ago,"  wrote  Archer,  "he 
[Grundy]  seemed  to  have  lost  all  ambition  - to  be  incapable  of  ris- 
ing higher  than  Scribe  in  theory,  and  capable  of  sinking  infinitely 
lower  in  practise. He  then  enumerated  the  plays  which  had  mark- 
ed Grundy's  advance,  A Fool’s  Paradise,  A White  Lie  and  especially 
Sowing  the  Wind.  "We  have",  he  continued,  "in  The  New  Woman,  a live 
play,  a play  which  is  distinctly  in  the  movement , and  which  indi- 
cates real  progress  on  the  part  of  one  of  our  ablest  writers. "'l1 
Here,  then,  is  a play  by  Grundy  which  not  only  deals  with  a problem 
but  which  deals  with  it  simply  and  in  such  a manner  as  to  emphasize 
the  emotions  of  the  characters.  It  is  a play  with  something  of  the 
theme  of  Hauptmann's  Sunken  Bell;  the  struggle  between  the  senses 
and  the  intellect,  the  necessity  for  the  blending  of  the  two  in  man, 
and  - in  Grundy's  play  - the  final  return  to  the  appeal  of  the 
senses.  It  is  a subtle  problem  and  one  calling  for  delicacy  of 
treatment  and  deftness  of  characterization.  Archer  summed  up  the 
construction  thus:  it  has  "two  acts  of  the  most  brilliant  dialo- 

gue, and  of  delicate  unostentatious  constructive  skill;  one  act  of 
vigorous,  emotional  drama;  and  an  idyllic,  sympathetic,  conciliato- 
ry, illusory  conclusion."  Where  the  play  seems  to  have  fallen  down 
is  in  its  failure  to  make  the  "new  woman"  convincing.  She  is  not 
new  at  all,  and  is  sometimes  a puppet  with  rather  unreasonable 
actions.  However,  in  its  theme,  in  its  adoption  of  simple  techni- 
que and  in  its  attempt  to  portray  the  emotions  of  characters,  the 
10 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1894,  p.  335. 


11 


Archer,  Theatrical  World t 1894,  p.  333. 


-51- 


play  undoubtedly  marks  an  advance  in  the  quality  of  Grundy's  work. 

Slaves  of  the  Ring,  produced  December  29,  1894,  has  been 
discussed  in  the  preceding  chapter.  Having  written  it  eighteen 
years  before,  Grundy  had  after  many  refusals  laid  it  away  among  the 
dusty  manuscripts  - of  which  he  doubtless  had  many  - to  bring  it 
forth  in  1894.  It  is  also  a thesis  play,  a bit  more  old-fashioned 
than  the  others  of  this  group. 

The  Greatest  of  These  - first  saw  the  light  in  the  pro- 
vinces. M.  Filon,  appending  a footnote  to  his  chapter  on  Grundy, 
hailed  it  as  the  masterpiece,  which  he  had,  on  the  same  page,  pre- 
dicted that  Grundy  would  some  day  write.  Other  critics  did  not, 
however,  give  it  an  equal  amount  of  praise.  Shaw  dismissed  it  as 
being  violently  polemical,  didactic  and  old  fashioned.  Archer, 
ever  the  gentler  critic,  spoke  of  the  lack  of  clearness  and  the 
rhetorical  expression  of  character,  but  granted  the  play  the  merit 
of  power,  intelligence  and  conviction.  He  also  praised,  as  the 
best  thing  Grundy  had  ever  done,  the  character  of  Armitage  and 
likened  him  to  Ibsen’s  Consul  Bernick.  Again,  in  this  play,  we 
have  moral  satire,  this  time  an  attack  upon  the  rtinhuman  egoism  of 
respectability",  that  outcry  which  Grundy  was  perpetually,  earnest- 
ly and  sincerely  making  against  what  he  believed  to  be  the  shams 
of  society.  If  he  falsified  the  social  order  sometimes  in  the  pro- 
cess, he  at  least  saw  the  evils  of  his  environment  and  tried  to 

present  them  effectively  in  his  plays.  "He  had",  according  to 

12 

Dickinson,  "the  will  to  truth  if  not  the  insight  to  truth." 

The  Greatest  of  These  - is  in  reality  the  last  original 
play  of  Grundy’s  of  any  vigor  or  strength.  The  Late  Mr.  Castello, 

12 

Dickinson,  Contemporary  Drama  of  England,  p.  89. 


. 


. 


. 


' 

. 


-52- 

which  followed  three  months  later, was  more  or  less  of  a pot-boiler, 
a return  to  the  sort  of  thing  which  Grundy  did  easily,  the  rather 
artificial  play,  characterized  by  Shaw  as  a "mechanical  rabbit", 
the  play  with  brilliantly  clever  dialogue,  but  with  shallow  charact- 
erization and  failure  to  probe  beneath  the  surface  of  life.  It  is 
the  type  of  comedy  often  effective  on  the  stage  - the  Good  Gracious 
Annabelle  sort  of  thing  - which,  produces  laughter  but  leaves  no 
effect.  The  story  is  that  of  the  cure  of  a flirt  who  without  really 
caring  for  anyone  captivates  all  the  lovers  of  her  less  fascinating 
sister.  Mrs.  Costello's  mother,  who  is  abnormally  and  tediously  ab- 
sorbed with  the  stock-market,  is  also  satirized.  The  play  forms  a 
clever  farce;  it  is  not  a good  comedy. 

With  The  Late  Mr.  Gastello  Grundy* s original  work 
practically  ends.  In  the  three  years  from  1893  to  1896  he  had 
reached  the  summit  of  his  career.  If  he  had  not  equalled  the  work 
of  Shaw,  Wilde,  Jones  and  Pinero,  he  had  at  least  produced  plays 
comparable  to  theirs.  He  had  promoted  the  thesis  play.  He  had, 
indeed,  eagerly  and  with  enthusiasm  written  of  the  evils  of  society 
with  a view  to  correcting  them.  He  was  ready  to  help  in  the  revi- 
val of  serious  drama.  Even  in  characterization  he  had  not  always 
failed.  If  he  did  not  present  psychological  analyses  of  characters, 
he  gave  us  such  characters  as  Arm it age  in  The  Greatest  of  These  - 
Brabazon  in  Sowing  the  Wind  and  Benjamin  Goldfinch  in  A Pair  of 
Spectacles , who  live  in  cur  memory.  Shining  through  many  of  his 
plays,  moreover,  is  the  lovable  quality  of  Grundy’s  idealism,  which 
led  him  to  attack  the  oppressor  and  to  champion,  even  if  sentiment- 
ally, the  cause  of  the  oppressed.  But  the  flare  of  Grundy's  genius 

was  to  die;  Mr.  Archer's  enthusiasm,  his  joy  at  perceiving  signs  of 


. 

1 

' 


I 


f 


f 


. 


-53- 


genius  in  a man  whom  he  believed  capable  of  great  things,  was  dim- 
med. Grundy  failed  to  fulfill  the  promise  of  these  few  years;  he  was 
unable  to  go  farther  with  the  forward  movement  of  English  drama. 


- . ' . C . 


* 


-54- 


V. 

Grundy,  as  "Playwright  of  the  Past." 

It  is  an  almost  unfailing  phenomenon  that  some  bright 
morning  - or  perhaps  it  should  be  a rainy  one  - a man  wakes  to  the 
realization  that  his  age  - be  it  in  science,  art,  letters,  mechanics 
or  methods  of  filing  - is  slowly  slipping  away  from  him.  Perhaps 
he  will  let  it  slip,  and  go  happily  down-stairs  to  his  coffee  and 
toast.  But  if  he  is  of  the  Sydney  Grundy  type  he  will  fight  for  the 
principles  of  his  age  against  the  encroaching  ideas  of  the  new  gen- 
eration. When,  in  1896,  Grundy  saw  work  appearing  which  he  was  in- 
capable of  doing  and  which  - to  do  him  justice  - he  sincerely  be- 
lieved not  to  be  of  the  best  dramatic  calibre,  he  wrote  a sombrely 
pessimistic  article  for  the  March  1896  number  of  The  Theatre  en- 
titled  "Marching  to  Our  Doom."  Back  of  the  exaggerated  seriousness 
of  it,  the  condemnation  of  first-night  audiences,  and  the  plea  to 
Pinero  not  to  heed  the  advice  of  the  ’tranks  and  egotists"  is  an  al- 
most pathetic  defense  of  Grundy’s  play,  the  "well-made"  play.  The 
only  way  he  sees  to  prove  his  point  to  the  practical  minded  English 
is  through  the  box-office.  He  therefore  hides  his  defense  of  the 
Scribe  play  behind  a consideration  of  the  economies  of  the  theatre, 
of  the  necessity  of  writing  something  that  shall  pay.  Nevertheless, 
he  speaks  with  contempt  of  the  theorists,  who  he  says  "stand  to  the 
average  playgoer  in  the  same  relation  as  a Scandinavian  stove  to  an 
honest,  open,  cheerful  English  hearth."  "What  is  the  matter  with 
them",  he  continues,  "is  that  they  are  not  dramatists,  and  have  no 
sympathy  with  dramatists.  They  are  essentially  men  of  letters, 
students,  scholars;  they  look  at  everything  from  the  point  of  view 


_ 


- 

- 


n 

. 

I 


- 

lxrioi  :hr.''  £f  v t : I 

i 


■ 


■ 


-55- 


of  the  library,  the  cloister,  the  academy.  If  they  will  analyze 
their  own  temperaments,  they  will  find  that  they  have  a certain  anti- 
pathy to  the  corporeal  theatre,  and  a violent  repugnance  to  an  au- 
dience. Plays  ought  to  be  read,  not  acted;  the  actors  are  a super- 
fluous and  distorting  medium."1 

To  this  vigorously  written  article  of  Grundy’s,  a host 
of  protests  soon  appeared.  Evidently  the  subject  was,  at  that  time, 

of  immediate  appeal.  One  of  the  first  answers  was  Archer’s  article 

o 

"Mr.  Grundy’s  Crack  of  Doom."  Shaw  wrote  of  this  review,  that  Archer 
had  "gone  on  the  war-path  against  Mr.  Grundy,  and  tomahawked  his  ar- 
guments, scalped  his  figures,  burnt  his  facts  alive,  and  insulted 
their  ashes  with  taunting  demands  for  the  production  of  the  returns 
from  Slaves  of  the  Ring,  Mr.  Cmstello,  and  so  on,  in  order  to  compare 

3 

them  with  the  returns  from  the  later  Pinero  plays."  Archer  claims 
that  The  Notorious  Mrs.  Ebbsmith,  a "mere  character  study",  accord- 
ing to  Grundy,  brought  in  more  money  than  The  Late  Mr.  Castello. 

An  Old  Jew  or  Slaves  of  the  Ring  and  implies,  therefore,  that  it 
is  a better  play.  Such  an  argument  is,  of  course,  fallacious  to  a 
large  extent,  but  Archer  is  only  answering  Grundy  on  his  own  ground. 
Archer  claims,  moreover,  that  Grundy  is  wrong  in  stating  the  move- 
ment is  from  the  well-made  to  the  ill-made  play;  it  is  rather  from 
the  well-made  to  the  better-made  play.  Neither  does  he  believe  that 
progress  is  ever  achieved  by  writing  down  to  the  public.  He  also 
reminds  Grundy  that  in  writing  The  Greatest  of  These- and  Sowing  the 
Wind  he  wrote  not  to  please  the  public  but  to  "satisfy  his  own  soul.1' 

1 The  Theatre , Vol.  27,  p.  136. 

2 

Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1896,  p.  413. 


3 


Shaw,  Dramatic  Opinions,  Vol.  I,  p.  354. 


. 


I 


-56- 


Shaw  characteristically  takes  up  the  argument,  by  recom- 
mending Grundy's  article  as  good  reading  if  only  for  the  reference 
to  Shaw  himself  as  the  "crankiest  of  stove-pipe  fanatics".  Shaw's 
one  point  of  attack  seems  to  be  that  Grundy  does  not  really  know 
the  "mechanical  rabbit "type  of  play  which  he  champions. 

To  these  two  articles  Grundy  replies  in  a more  good- 
humored  vein  in  the  April  Theatre.  Evidently,  as  he  says,  he  feels 
"much  better  since  he  accused  Mr.  Shaw  of  "too  prolonged  a contem- 
plation of  Scandinavian  stove-pipes".  In  losing  much  of  the  bitter- 
ness which  beclouded  the  atmosphere  of  his  first  article,  Grundy 
more  clearly  enunciates  his  position.  He  says  in  regard  to  the  box- 
office  side  of  the  theatre,  "I  am  as  * scornful*  as  I was  sixteen 
years  ago  of  * the  theory  that  it  is  a critic's  business  to  estimate 
the  money  in'  a play  or  to  prognosticate  its  fate  - - - When  I ar- 
gued that,  'if  the  public  is  thoughtless  and  vulgar,  thoughtless- 
ness and  vulgarity  are  the  factors  of  the  problem  which  we  have  to 
solve',  I did  not  propose  that  the  solution  should  be  an  ignoble 
one."  In  regard  to  the  structure  of  a play,  he  enthusiastically 
corroborates  the  position  of  The  Stage  that  "no  dramatist  can  set 

his  figures  on  the  stage  psychologically  and  dramatically  without 

4 

the  subtlest  organic  forms." 

In  the  same  number  of  The  Theatre  two  articles  in  reply 
to  Grundy  appeared.  In  "The  Difficulties  of  the  Serious  Drama", 
the  author  declared  that  Grundy's  fretful  arguments  are  unbased, 
vague  phantoms  conceived  out  of  his  head.  H.  Hamilton  Frye  follows 
with  a condemnation  of  Grundy's  ideas  as  mere  contradictions  from 
a man  with  a grievance. 


4 


The  Theatre , Vol.  27,  p.  199. 


I 


-57- 


All  of  the  critics  emphasize  the  materialistic  side  of 
Grundy’s  articles  and  fail  to  see  that  he  was  trying  for  the  most 
part  to  justify  the  type  of  play  he  could  write.  He  was  unwilling 
to  be  a "playwright  of  the  past";  never,  even  up  to  his  death,  did 
he  stop  fighting.  He  insisted,  however,  on  hiding  his  ideals  under 
a thick  cloak  of  materialism.  Archer,  who  understood  him  better 
than  anyone  else,  said  in  continuing  the  argument,  "Mr.  Grundy’s 
practice  is  almost  always  better  than  his  principles.  While  he 
is  shouting  ’Stop  heri  Euck  her!’  he  turns  the  crank  to  full  speed 
ahead!  -------  Is  it  so  very  unchivalrous  to  remind  a man 

who  is  arguing  like  Falstaff,  that  yesterday  he  was  fighting  like 
Hotspur  and  will  be  again  tomorrow?  - - - - If  he  tells  me  that  the 
old-fashioned  technique  ("of  The  Greatest  of  These  -~j  at  least,  was 
a concession  to  the  alleged  requirements  of  the  great  public,  again 
I tell  him  I know  better.  It  is  part  of  his  artistic  ideal,  to 
which  he  has  in  this  case  been  absolutely  faithful.*’®  Certainly 
Grundy’s  work  contradicts  his  theory,  time  and  again.  His  theory 
came  as  a result  of  many  years  of  hard  experience;  his  practice 
came  from  an  innate  longing  for  expression.  When  he  wrote  that 
"plays  too  far  in  advance  of  public  taste  are,  like  legislation 
too  far  in  advance  of  public  opinion,  a dead  letter",  he  was  speak- 
ing from  what  many  years  of  rebuffs  and  misunderstandings  had 
taught  him.  But  when  he  nad  written  Slaves  of  the  Ring  he  had 
written  against  that  pronouncement. 

The  last  word  in  the  controversy  over  the  "well-made" 
play  was,  after  all,  written  by  Grundy  in  his  preface  to  Archer’s 
Theatrical  World  of  1897.  " My  contention",  he  writes,  "has  ever 


5 


Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1896,  p.  181-182. 


-58- 


been,  that  form  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  manifestations  of  art  - 
I contend  that  to  put  into  dramatic  form  and  shapeliness  the  confused 
tangle  which  we  find  in  life  is  the  very  art  and  business  of  the 
dramatic  author  - - - The  real  question  is,  'Is  form  an  element  of 
the  highest  art?’ 1,6  Grundy  believed  that  it  was,  and  for  that  rea- 
son he  wrote  the  "well-made”  play,  not  because  as  he  implied  in  many 
of  his  articles,  "the  dear  old  simple-minded"  English  public  demand- 
ed it,  or  because  the  "sober-minded,  thoughtful  mass  of  the  English 
public  are  not  play  goers. In  this  article  Grundy  claimed  that 
his  reasons  for  writing  adaptation  were  two-fold:  first,  that  adapta- 
tion was  as  successful  and  as  highly  praised  as  original  work  and 
second,  that  adaptation  could  be  written  hastily  to  supply  a theatri- 
cal gap.  The  truth  was  that  in  the  years  1893  - 1897  Grundy's  adap- 
tations ran  forty-seven  weeks,  while  his  original  plays  - the  best 
work  he  had  ever  done  - ran  sixty-nine  weeks.  In  the  same  years, 
moreover,  the  original  work  of  the  English  authors  occupied  five 
hundred  thirty  weeks  compared  with  five  hundred  thirty-four  weeks 

p 

given  to  adaptation. 

The  comparative  failure  of  his  original  plays  and  the 
unwelcome  suspicion  - which  was  rapidly  becoming  a conviction  - that 
the  well-made  play  was  a thing  of  the  past,  must  in  a measure  ac- 
count for  the  fact  that  from  1896  until  his  death  in  1914,  Grundy 
wrote  almost  nothing  but  adaptation.  He  was  not,  after  all,  to 
fight  again  like  Hotspur.  When  a man  has,  in  the  face  of  continued 
opposition,  sought  to  "satisfy  his  soul"  for  something  like  twenty- 
four  years,  he  grows  weary  of  the  attempt.  Adaptation  was  easy 

6 Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1897,  introduction,  p.  XIII,  XIV. 

^ Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1897,  introduction,p.XVI . 

8 


Archer.  Theatrical  World,  1897,  pp.  371-373 . 


' • 


. 


. 


. 

. 

. 


-59- 


and  safe.  From  1897  on  Grundy  was  an  onlooker;  although  he  continu- 
ed to  write,  he  was  distinctly  out  of  the  dramatic  movement.  He  did 
however,  make  just  before  his  death  one  last  attempt  to  justify  his 
position  and  to  depict  failure  for  the  monopoly  of  the  theatre  by 
literature . 

His  plays  of  this  last  period  are  very  much  like  one 
another.  It  will  be  sufficient,  I think,  to  mention  three  of  them. 
The  first,  A Marriage  of  Convenience , is  an  adaptation  from  Alex- 
andre Dumas’  Un  Mariage  so.ua  Louis  Q.uinze.  it  was  produced  June 
5,  1897,  and  had  a long  run  of  sixteen  weeks.  In  this  rather  charm- 
ing- but  slight  little  comedy,  Grundy  sticks  very  closely  to  the 
French  original.  In  not  attempting  to  Anglicize  either  characters 
or  situation  he  has  carried  out  the  romantic  tone  much  more  success- 
fully than  if  he  had  made  an  English  play  of  it.  Archer  wrote  that 
"this  gay  and  graceful  trifle  was  well  worth  translating."  Grundy 
did  a good  piece  of  work  and  gave  an  amusing  picture  of  the  attempls 
of  a French  couple  to  hide  their  increasing  love  for  each  other  by 
pretending  love  for  old  flames.  But  translation  is  not,  of  course, 
the  primary  work  of  a first  class  aramatiet. 

During  this  period  Grundy  adapted  a number  of  one-act 
comediettas  from  the  French.  Among  these  is  Sympathetic  Souls 
from  Scribe’s  Les  Inconsolables.  If  such  a play  as  Sympathetic 
Souls  is  compared  with  Grundy’s  one  act  comedy,  In  Honour  Bound, 
written  back  in  1880,  a distinct  falling  off  in  dramatic  values 
and  ideas  is  noticed.  The  later  play  is  a picture  of  type  charact- 
ers; the  earlier  possesses  dramatic  interest,  a definite  plot, 
action  and  some  able  characterization.  Sympathetic  Souls  enter- 
tains with  its  satire  on  the  person  who  rejoices  in  her  sorrow. 


-60- 


"You  know”,  weeps  Mrs.  Bellringer,  "the  only  pleasure  left  to  me  is 
my  unhappiness."  But  when  she  meets  a gentleman,  afflicted  in  much 
the  same  manner,  she  agrees  ro  share  her  misery.  The  characters  are 
over  drawn;  they  have  none  of  the  naturalness  of  Sir  Philip  in  In 
Honour  Bound. 

As  illustrative  of  a little  later  work,  comes  Frocks  and 
Fri 11s , another  adaptation.  This  play  depended  for  its  measure  of 
success  almost  entirely  on  the  glories  of  a dressmaking  establish- 
ment. Of  it  Grein  wrote  that  "there  is  not  an  ounce  of  human  nature 
in  it  - - - Every  joke,  every  situation,  every  morsel  of  comic  re- 
lief, every  piece  of  furniture  has  its  mathematically  appointed 
g 

place."  Max  Beerbohm,  however,  sounds  the  death  knell  for  Grundy 
when  he  takes  him  gently  from  the  pedestal  which  he  had  so  long  oc- 
cupied with  Jones  and  Pinero.  Beerbohm,  moreover,  reproaohes  Grundy 
for  his  failure  to  do  anything  bigger  than  adaptation,  saying, 
"Nullity  in  the  case  of  so  talented  a writer  as  Mr.  Grundy  is  repre- 
hensible." If  it  is  reprehensible,  it  is  surely  at  this  stage  of  hi£ 
life  understandable. 

The  Play  of  the  Future . a defense  of  the  past  and  an 
indictment  of  the  present  condition  of  drama,  closed  Grundy’s  liter- 
ary career.  In  this  little  pamphlet  written  shortly  before  his 
death,  Grundy,  while  acknowledging  that  the  movement  has  left  him 
behind,  still  denies  to  that  movement  soundness  and  health.  "Yes;" 
he  cries,  "the  drama  is  literature;  but  literature  is  not  the  drama, 
and  it  is  time  it  ceased  to  be  whispered  in  corners  and  were  pro- 
claimed on  the  house-tops,  that  a theatre  is  not  a library,  that  a 
play  ought  to  be  written  to  be  acted;  and  that  to  a real  dramatist 

g 

Grein,  Dramatic  Criticism,  1900-1901,  p.  291. 


■ 


. 

. 

' * ’ ■ ■ ^ 

* 

. 

. 


-61- 


it  matter s no  more  how  hie  drama  r eads  than  how  a hen  crows . 'Liter- 
ature' is  the  cant,  'literature'  is  the  curse  of  our  theatrical  day 
and  generation  - and  such  literature!  literature  without  a heart, 
literature  without  a soul,  literature  without  a body,  literature 
without  blood,  literature  with  nothing  but  a blase  brain-box.  n1^ 
Grundy  condemns  Shaw  as  a public  danger  and  says  that  "like  Carthage 
Mr.  Shaw  must  be  destroyed."  Barker  is  an  "inveterate  mendicant" 
although  an  "earnest  seeker  after  truth",  while  Wilde's  "bloom  is 
the  bloom  upon  the  cheeks  of  Phryne , bought  at  a chemist's  in  the 
Haymarket."  Grundy  claims,  moreover,  for  himself  and  his  contem- 
poraries a measure  of  influence  on  the  drama,  and  predicts  for  the 
future  a return  to  "the  consummate  draftsmanship  of  Sardou"  and  to 
a catholicity  of  theme  and  purpose.  "The  footlights  will  resume 
their  pride  of  place,  and  the  public  be  privileged  to  enjoy  now  and 
again  that  most  refreshing  of  all  intellectual  recreations,  the 
purely  artificial  drama  - evenings  with  a great  gulf,  fixed  between 
actors  and  audience  - the  gulf  of  mystery  - a drama  like  nothing  in 
nature,  like  nothing  in  life,  but  their,  distilled  essence."11  This 
is,  after  all,  the  vigorous  cry  of  a man  who  will  never  be  complete- 
ly beaten,  who  even  as  he  realizes  that  his  work  is  outmoded,  re- 
turns affectionately  to  a consideration  of  that  work.  It  is,  the 
"playwright  of  the  past",  who  finding  himself  almost  alone  in  his 
principles,  still  cries,  "It  is  not  I who  have  altered,  it  is 
Bolingbroke;  and  I am  so  built  - I did  not  build  myself  - that  I 
cannot  let  Bolingbroke  have  his  way."1^ 


10 

Grundy , 

Play 

of 

the 

Future  , 

P* 

11 

Grundy , 

Play 

of 

the 

Future , 

pp. 

12 

Grundy , 

Play 

of 

the 

Fut  ure , 

P- 

. 

# 

. 


■ 


: 

' 


-62- 


VI. 

Conclusion. 

In  a neat,  trenchant  little  epigram  George  Bernard  Shaw 
sums  up  what  he  considers  to  be  Grundy’s  place  in  the  history  of 
English  drama.  "There  was”,  writes  Shaw,  in  a letter  concerning 
Grundy,  "3ome  of  the  pathos  of  failure  about  him;  but  you  can  hardly 
say  that  he  was  a failure.  What  you  can  say,  I think,  is  that  he 
was  a warning,  rather  than  an  example."1  In  other  words,  for  Mr. 
Shaw,  Grundy’s  work  marked  the  sign-post  on  the  drama  road  with, 
"Banger!  Stop!"  rather  than  with,  "Safety!  Go  ahead!"  A warning 
even  though  it  is  indicative  of  the  worse  phase  of  Grundy’s  writing, 
is  often  salutary,  and  as  essential  to  the  safety  of  a movement  as 
the  best  of  examples.  There  was,  however,  I think,  much  more  than 
this  purely  negative  side  to  Grundy.  Such  plays  as  I n Honour  Bound , 
The  Glass  of  Fashion  and  The  Silver  Shield  opened  a clearly-defined, 
trustworthy  path  for  the  young  playwright  to  follow,  a path  marked 
by  the  careful  consideration  of  problems  and  by  as  earnest  an  at- 
tempt to  show  the  evils  of  society  and  the  shams  of  hypocrisy  as  in 
any  play  by  a contemporary  dramatist.  Where,  of  course,  he  served  as 
a ?;arning  was  in  the  direction  of  the  well-made  play.  But  he  did 
much  more  than  to  ruin  the  machinery  of  the  "mechanical  rabbit"  play 
by  winding  it  too  tightly.  At  his  best  he  was  capable  of  producing 
a play  with  compactly  built  plot,  dazzlingly  brilliant  dialogue,  a- 
ble  characterization  and  a definite  problem,  unconventional  perhaps, 
but  vital  and  interesting.  Such  plays  were  The  Greatest  of  These  - 
and  Sowing  the  Wind.  In  theme,  dialogue  and  even  sometimes  in  tech- 
1 See  APP®ndix , p.  69. 


-63- 


nique,  it  would  not  have  hurt  any  dramatist  to  follow  his  example, 
unless,  of  course,  he  adhered  to  it  too  tenaciously.  Many  did,  I 
think,  feel  his  influence  and,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  profited, 
by  his  successes  as  well  as  by  his  failures.  Grundy  himself  express- 
ed it  correctly  when  he  wrote,  "It  (the  presentD  would  not  have  been 
possible  without  our  labours;  where  we  sowed,  it  reaps." 

Again  Mr.  Shaw  writes:  "During  the  ten  years  1885  - 1895 
Grundy  was  classed  with  Pinero  and  Jones  as  one  of  the  three  leading 
playwrights  of  the  day;  and  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  this  was  less 
than  he  deserved;  it  was  on  the  contrary  a remarkable  bit  of  luck  for 
him. In  those  years,  1885  - 1895,  Grundy  was  doing  his  best  work, 
work  the  quality  of  which,  I think,  entitled  him,  if  not  to  be  class- 
ed exactly  with  Pinero  and  Jones,  at  least  to  a place  directly  after 
them.  It  was  not,  altogether , good  fortune  but  ability  and  hard  work 
which  for  a period  of  time  put  Grundy  in  the  front  rank  of  English 
dramatists.  While  Grundy  was  producing  Sowing  the  Wind,  An  Old  Jew, 
and  The  New  Woman , Jones  was  writing  The  Liars  and  Michael  and  his 
Lost  Angel  and  Pinero  The  Profligate  ana  The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray. 
Sowing  the  Wind  is  unquestionably  neither  sc  strong  nor  so  powerful 
a play  as  The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray  or  Michael . It  is  the  same  type 
of  play,  however  - a play,  dealing  without  flinching  or  hesitancy 
with  a real  problem  of  society.  I do  not  think,  moreover,  that  ei- 
ther the  play  of  Jones  or  that  of  Pinero  is  much  superior  in  con- 
struction to  Sowing  the  Wind.  The  latter  moves  simply  and  naturally 
to  a logical  conclusion.  What  Grundy’s  play  lacks,  of  course,  is 
realistic  and  deep  characterization;  in  this  respect,  it  falls  de- 

^ See  Appendix , p . 68-63  . 


< 


- . _ . 


* 

I 

» 


finitely  behind  the  work  of  Jones  and  Pinero.  Grundy  undoubtedly 
ranked  third  among  the  the  three  dramatists,  but  that  he  held  such 
a position  w as  due  rather  to  his  merit  than  to  any  "remarkable  bit 
of  luck". 

Where  Grundy  failed  most  completely,  after  all,  was  in 
that  quality  which  perhaps  only  great  dramatists  possess,  his  abili- 
ty to  sustain  himself.  Never  in  hie  fifty  or  more  plays  do  we  have 
a perfect  piece  of  work.  A brilliant  bit  of  dialogue  in  The  Silver 
Shield,  able  characterization  in  A Pair  of  Spectacles,  some  reveal- 
ing and  deep  analysis  of  human  motives  in  Sowing  the  Wind,  a smash- 
ing blow  at  hypocrisy  in  The  Greatest  of  These  -,  all  are  admirable 
qualities  repeated  again  and  again.  But  never  does  a character 
stand  out  wholly  and  completely,  never  is  a play  worked  out  to  an 
entirely  satisfactory  solution.  In  An  Old  Jew , for  instance,  Grundy 
misses  what  might  have  been  a masterly  depiction  of  a great  person- 
ality, to  express  his  aversion  to  newspaper  criticism.  In  A Fool's 
Paradise  we  are  not  altogether  sure  whether  Grundy  condemns  the 
woman  who  attempts  to  poison  her  husband  or  not.  In  almost  every 
one  of  his  plays  there  is  a slump  at  some  point.  Dramatic  virtues 
and  vices  are  so  thoroughly  mixed  that  a critic  in  reviewing 
Grundy’s  plays  will  always  be  compelled  to  use  a plentiful  supply 
of  "althoughs",  "buts"  and  "in  spite  ofs".  Mr.  Shaw  hits  the  rea- 
son for  this  when  he  says  that  Grundy  "never  worked  out  his  posi- 
tion intellectually".  Because  his  own  ideas  were  never  altogether 
clear  in  his  mind,  he  could  never  fully  develop  the  characters  or 
plays  which  embodied  those  ideas. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  sum  up  his  philosophy  of  life. 
As  Shaw  says,  he  believed  our  morality  to  be  "hypocritical  and  in- 


* 


<.■  , 


. 


-65- 


human".  He  did,  however,  get  "beyond  making  vague  bids  for  sympathy 
with  adultery".  What  Grundy  wanted  rather  than  to  condone  immoral- 
ity was  to  condemn  Pharisaism  and  to  plead  for  complete  understand- 
ing before  giving  judgment.  Because  he  was  morbidly  sensitive  him- 
self to  public  opinion  and  to  the  harshness  of  unfriendly  critics, 
he  attempted  to  show,  as  in  The  Silver  Shield,  that  condemnation 
is  often  based  on  misconception  rather  than  on  actual  truth.  This 
same  sensitiveness  led  him,  as  Mr.  Shaw  intimates,  to  imagine  that 
he  was  more  misunderstood  possibly  than  he  was.  Certainly,  the 
large  amount  of  adverse  criticism  which  he  received  early  in  his 
career  affected  him  more  than  it  would  a more  callous  soul.  When 
he  began  to  write,  adaptation,  farce  and,  at  the  best,  "cup  and  sau- 
cer" comedy  dominated  the  English  stage.  At  his  death  plays  deal- 
ing with  serious  problems  of  society  were  familiar  to  English  au- 
diences. It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  he  helped  materially  to 
make  this  possible.  That  he  did  not  do  more  was  due  partly  to  his 
own  limitations  but  largely  to  his  age.  It  was  his  misfortune  rath- 
er than  his  fault  that  when  his  mind  was  clear  and  his  ideals  fresh, 
his  age  should  not  have  been  ready  for  him,  and  that  when  the  time 
was  ripe  for  work  which  according  to  logical  development  of  talent 
he  should  have  been  able  to  produce,  his  mind  was  clouded  by  bitter- 
ness, resulting  from  neglect  and  real  or  fancied  abuse. 

Whatever  else  Grundy  was,  he  was  an  idealist,  believing 
in  men  and  sympathizing  with  them  in  their  triumphs  and  defeats. 

His  idealism  may  have  led  him  astray,  may  even  have  been  partially 
responsible  for  his  failure  to  "work  out  his  position  intellectu- 
ally". He  was,  however,  by  temperament,  a fighter  and  a champion 
of  ideas.  William  Archer  summed  up  the  idealism  of  the  man  and  the 


. 

* 

. 

1 

• 

* 

• 

- 

. 


-66- 


faults  and.  virtues  of  the  playwright  most  completely  when  he  wrote: 
"He  knew  very  well  - or  at  any  rate  he  believed  - that 
the  public  was  thoughtless;  he  gave  it  the  best  of  his  thoughts.  He 
knew  that  it  hated  to  be  preached  at:  he  preached  at  it  with  all  his 
might.  He  knew  that  it  was  impatient  of  laborious  analysis  of  char- 
acter: he  gave  it,  if  not  laborious  analysis,  at  least  leisurely  and 
detailed  synthesis.  Again  and  again  he  suspended  the  action  - for 
which  alone  the  public  is  understood  to  yearn  - while  some  social 
or  moral  question  was  being  deliberately  thrashed  out.  In  short,  he 
calmly  ignored  the  (real  or  imaginary)  demands  of  the  bugbear  public 
and  wrote  simply  to  satisfy  himself.  Or  rather,  to  put  it  more  ac- 
curately, he  wrote,  as  every  artist  must,  for  an  ideal  audience,  for 

„3 

those  who  think,  who  feel,  who  know." 


3 


Archer,  Theatrical  World,  1896,  pp.  182-183. 


' 

; 

. 

* 


* c 


-67- 


VII. 

Appendix 

In  an  effort  to  secure  information  concerning  Grundy's  life 
and  work,  Professor  Hillebrand  has  written  to  various  friends  and 
acquaintances  of  the  playwright . Of  the  replies  received  those 
from  William  Archer,  George  Bernard  Shaw  and  Mrs.  Kendal  have 
proved  of  especial  interest  and  value  and  are  therefore  here  in- 
cluded . 

I . 

Dear  Sir, 

Were  you  in  England  I could  tell  you  many  many  anec- 
dotes of  our  friend  Sydney  Grundy  - but  I cannot  write  them.  Now 
you  are  in  correspondence  with  his  wife  a devoted  second  wife,  and 
his  daughter,  you  will  gain  much  information.  I wonder  if  this 
world  will  ever  comprehend  and  acknowledge  what  a clever  man  he 
was.  I fear  not.  The  world  cannot  judge  anything  unless  you 
carry  a placard  of  your  good  points  on  both  chest  and  back  for 
them  to  read!.' 


Y.  V.  Sincerely 
Madge  Kendal . 


* 


. 


-68- 

II . 

Dear  Sir, 

In  the  nineties  I contributed  to  The  Saturday  Review 
criticisms  of  those  plays  of  Grundy's  which  were  produced  in  London 
between  1895  and  1898.  You  will  find  in  the  collection  entitled. 
Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays  published  by  Brentanos  an  article  on 
Slaves  of  the  Ring,  another  headed  Pinero  and  Grundy  on  G.B.S.,  and 
a third  called  Mr.  Grundy's  Improvements  on  Dumas. 

These  three  articles  should  be  read  now  with  some  allow- 
ance for  the  fact  that  I was  engaged  in  discrediting  the  trade  in 
"well-made"  plays  from  Paris,  constructed  according  to  the  Scribe 
formula.  Grundy  was  more  than  a practitioner  in  this  school:  he 
was  a devotee;  and  when  I hit  out  right  and  left  at  the  "well-made" 
plays,  ridiculing  all  their  tricks  and  describing  them  as  mechanical 
rabbits  and  clockwork  mice  and  the  like,  I was  blaspheming  against 
the  only  religion  Grundy  had  ever  acquired.  Consequently  Grundy 
never  alluded  to  me  in  print  except  in  terms  of  the  most  contemptu- 
ous hostility.  But  we  were  none  the  worse  friends  personally.  When 
he  was  dying  - it  took  a long  time,  poor  fellow  - he  would  write 
fierce  letters  to  the  press  against  me,  and  then  write  quite  affec- 
tionate private  letters  to  me.  I do  not  think  there  was  any  cabal 
against  Grundy.  As  he  was  a man  who  lived  on  resentments  (which 
are  very  good  fun  and  quite  nourishing  if  you  have  the  temperament 
for  them)  he  invented  cabals  and  "rings". and  all  sorts  of  things  to 
resent  and  denounce;  and  so  Mrs.  Kendal  no  doubt  got  from  himself 

the  impression  that  he  was  misunderstood  and  illused.  But  during 


. 


* 


» 


. 


. 


-69- 


the  ten  years  1885  - 95  Grundy  was  cla.ssed  with  Pinero  and  Jones  as 
one  of  the  three  leading  playwrights  of  the  day;  and  it  can  hardly 
be  said  that  this  was  less  than  he  deserved;  it  was,  on  the  contrary, 
a remarkable  bit  of  luck  for  him.  When  the  reaction  against  what 
I used  to  call  Sardoodledom  came,  and  Barrie  came  to  the  front  in  the 
theatre,  Grundy  faded  into  an  adapter  of  French  plays.  But  he  had 
never  been  successful  as  an  original  writer,  because  though  he  real- 
ly did  try  to  be  original  in  his  subjects,  if  not  in  his  technique 
he  never  mastered  his  own  ideas.  He  thought  our  morality  was  hypo- 
critical and  inhuman;  and  for  him  morality  meant  sex  morality.  Some 
private  affair  of  his  own,  the  particulars  of  which  you  have  perhaps 
learnt,  rankled  in  him,  I tnink.  But  he  never  worked  out  his  posi- 
tion intellectually,  and  did  not  get  beyond  making  vague  bids  for 
sympathy  with  adultery,  and  mixing  them  up  hopelessly  with  the  Pari- 
sian stage  tradition  in  such  matters. 

If  he  had  made  up  his  mind  seriously  as  to  what  he  be- 
lieved, and  emptied  out  his  bag  of  mechanical  ifjacks  and  construction 
he  might  have  arrived  somewhere;  but  this  is  only  to  say  that  if  he 
had  not  been  Sydney  Grundy  he  might  have  been  someone  else.  There 
was  some  of  the  pathos  of  failure  about  him;  but  you  can  hardly  say 
that  he  was  a failure.  What  you  can  say,  I think,  is  that  he  was 
a warning  rather  than  an  example.  Like  all  men  who  quarrel  with 
conventional  morality  without  taking  the  trouble  to  find  out  what 
is  wrong  with  it,  he  ended  as  a cynic. 

Faithfully 


G.  Bernard  Shaw. 


- - 


- 


— 


. _ 

. 


-70- 


III. 


Dear  Professor  Hillebrand: 

I seize  a moment  in  the  midst  of  rehearsals  to  reply  to 
your  letter  regarding  Sydney  Grundy. 

I could  perhaps  answer  it  more  fully  were  I in  England; 
but  even  there  it  would  be  difficult  to  get  much  information  regard- 
ing him.  Many  of  his  plays  were  never  printed.  If  you  would  send 
me  a list  those  to  which  you  have  not  had  access,  I should  be  glad 
to  find  out,  on  my  return  to  London,  whether  they  are  obtainable. 

His  widow  may  have  his  mss,  but  I have  quite  lost  sight  of  her.  It 
is  possible,  however,  that  one  might  get  on  her  track. 

I knew  him  well,  but  never  enquired  into  his  biography, 
because  I knew  that  there  had  been  some  trouble  in  his  early  life 
which  had  procured  him  in  some  quarters  the  reputation  of  a man  of 
loose  morals.  I fancy  it  was  almost  entirely  undeserved  - probably 
some  sentimental  imbroglio  was  harshly  interpreted  by  the  Pharisaism 
of  his  native  place,  Manchester.  His  father,  I believe  had  been 
mayor,  at  or  any  rate,  alderman  of  that  city.  He  retained  through 
life  a slight  north  country  accent,  many  north  country  peculiarities. 
He  told  me  (I  think)  that  it  was  a Frenchman  who  taught  him  French 
in  Manchester  who  instilled  into  him  that  admiration  for  Eugene 
Scribe  which  established  his  dramatic  method,  and  which,  unfortunate- 
ly, he  never  outgrew.  His  French,  however,  remained  very  imperfect. 
He  was  capable  of  rather  gross  mis-translat ions . For  instance  he 

would  translate  ’’chance"  simple  "chance"  instead  of  "good  fortune". 

Strong  traces  of  his  sentimental  experience  and  his 


. 


: 


* 


, 


* 

■ 

. 


. 

- 


-71- 


rebellion  against  conventions  are  to  be  found  in  his  novel  "The  Days 
of  his  Vanity."  I once  possessed  a copy  of  it,  but  it  has  by  now 
disappeared.  I doubt  whether  its  three  volumes  are  recoverable  ex- 
cept in  the  British  Museum. 

I believe  that  the  play  ultimately  produced  under  the 
title  of  "Slaves  of  the  Ring"  was  quite  an  early  work;  but  it  was 
far  before  its  time  when  he  wrote  it  in  the  ’seventies,  and  far  be- 
hind its  time  when  he  was  at  last  able  to  produce  it  in  the  ’nine- 
ties. While  he  was  still  in  Manchester,  I think  he  had  some  short 
play  or  plays  produced  by  the  Kendals.  Mrs.  Kendal  could  now,  if 
she  would,  give  much  information  as  to  his  early  career.  I fancy 
(but  this  is  little  more  than  conjecture)  that  the  local  scandal  led 
to  an  estrangement  between  them.  I remember  him  once  telling  me 
that  a Manchester  critic  - I think  it  was  in  Manchester  - had  de- 
nounced his  work  as  being  "eaten  up  with  the  cancer,  or  canker,  or 
chancre  of  immorality". (Grundy  used  all  three  words,  I presume  im- 
plying that  he  did  not  remember  which  the  critic  had  employed.) 

Unable  to  get  original  plays  acted,  he  fell  back  on  ad- 
aptations, and  made  some  mark  with  "Mammon"  (Mont joye) "The  Snowball" 
(Oscar)  and  "In  Honor  Bound"  (Une  Chaine).  He  lived  for  many  years 
in  quite  narrow  circumstances  - in  a very  small  house  in  West  Dut- 
wich.  He  had  one  daughter,  Lily  Grundy,  who  went  on  the  stage  but 
did  not  make  any  career.  Presumably  she  married.  Fortune  came  to 
him  with  a series  of  Adelphi  melodramas  notably  "The  Bells  of 
Haslemere,"  which  he  did  alone  or  in  collaboration.  He  then  moved 
to  a larger  house  in  the  West  End  - Winter  Lodge,  Addison  Road  - 
and  he  had  ultimately  a house  at  (I  think)  Margate,  where  he  had  a 
telescope  and  studied  astronomy.  In  his  late  years  he  became  a 


-I  ~ 


' 

. 

* 

' 

1 

\ 

. * 

• . 

, 


-73- 


Baconian.  I remember  his  once  telling  me  very  solemnly  that  the 
following  year  (I  forget  what  year  it  was)  would  be  forever  famous 
in  the  history  of  literature  - and  I think  it  was  because  he  expect- 
ed some  Bacon  mss  (perhaps  new  plays  by  Bacon-Shapespeare ) to  be 
discovered  by  some  American  engineers  who  had,  by  a process  of 
stringent  deduction,  discovered  where  a box-full  of  documents  had 
been  deposited.  I have  always  associated  this  mare's  nest  of  his 
with  the  investigations  which  were  ultimately  made  in  the  bed  of  the 
Wye.  But  he  may  have  had  something  else  in  mind. 

In  his  last  years  he  printed  (privately  I think)  a 
pamphlet  good-naturedly  attacking  the  dramatic  movement  which  had 
left  him  behind.  I might  be  able  to  lay  my  hand  on  it  in  London. 

He  died,  I believe  of  cancer. 

Yours  very  truly, 

William  Archer. 


t 

. 


-73  - 


VIII. 

A List  of  Grundy’s  Plays 


With 

A Little  Change. 

All  at  Sea. 

Reading  for  the  Bar . 

Mammon . 

Man  Proposes. 

The  Snowball . 

A Bad  Bargain. 

After  Long  Years. 

In  Honour  Bound. 

Popsy  Wopsy  (libretto.). 

Over  the  Garden  Wall . 

Dust . 

The  Vicar  of  Bray  (libretto). 
The  Novel-Reader. 

Rachel . 

The  Queen’s  Favourite . 

The  Glass  of  Fashion . 

Hare  and  Hounds . 

La  Cosaque. 

Pocahontas  (libretto). 

The  Silver  Shield. 

Clito. 

A Wife*s  Sacrifice. 


date  of  first  performance. 

July  13,  1872. 
August  8,  1873. 
October  2,  1876. 
April  7,  1877. 

March  18,  1878. 
February  2,  1879. 

1879. 

December  6,  1879. 
September  25,  1880. 
October  4,  1880. 
July  20,  1881. 
November  12,  1881. 
July  22,  188 <6. 
August  28,  1882. 
April  14,  1883. 

June  2,  1883. 

March  26,  1883. 
August  13,  1883. 
April  7,  1884. 
December  26,  1884. 
May  19,  1885. 

May  1,  1886. 

May  25,  1886. 


I 


-74- 


The  Bells  of  Haslemere. 

July  28,  1887. 

A Fool’s  Paradise. 

October  7,  1887. 

The  Arabian  Nights. 

November  5,  1887. 

The  Pompadour. 

March  31,  1888. 

Mamma . 

April  16,  1888. 

The  Union  Jack. 

July  18,  1888. 

A White  Lie. 

February  8,  1889. 

Esther  Sandraz . 

June  11,  1889. 

Deep  Waters. 

September  19,  1889 

A Pair  of  Spectacles. 

February  22,  1890. 

A Village  Priest. 

April  3,  1890. 

A House  of  Cards. 

November  13,  1891. 

Haddon  Hall  (libretto). 

September  24,  1892 

Sowing  the  Wind. 

September  30,  1893 

An  Old  Jew. 

January  6,  1894. 

A Bunch  of  Violets. 

April  25,  1894. 

The  New  Woman. 

September  1,  1894. 

Slaves  of  the  Ring. 

December  29,  1894. 

The  Greatest  of  These  - 

September  13,  1895 

The  Late  Mr.  Caatello. 

December  28,  1895. 

A Marriage  of  Convenience. 

June  5,  1897. 

The  Silver  Key. 

July  10,  1897. 

The  Musketeers. 

November  3,  1898. 

The  Degenerates. 

August  31,  1899. 

The  Black  Tulip. 

October  28,  1899. 

Sympathetic  Souls. 

February  26,  1900. 

The  Head  of  Romulus. 

May  10,  1900. 

A Debt  of  Honour. 

September  1,  1900. 

I 


-?5- 


Frocks  and  Frills. 

The  Garden  of  Lies^ 
The  Diplomatists. 
Business  is  Business. 
A Fearful  Joy. 

World  Without  End. 


January  2,  1902. 
September  3,  1904. 
February  11,  1905. 
May*  13,  1905. 

April  13,  1908. 

1914. 


-76- 


IX. 

Bibliography. 

A.  General  reference. 

1.  Adams,  W.  D.  A Dictionary  of  the  Drama,  A-G.  Philadelphia, 
1904. 

3.  Clarence,  Reginald.  The  Stage  Cyclopedia.  London,  1909. 

3.  Hines,  Dixie  and  Hanaford,  Harry  Prescott.  Who* 3 Who  in 

Music  and  Drama.  New  York,  1914. 

4.  Parker,  John.  Who!s  Who  in  the  Theatre.  Boston,  1914. 

B.  Stage  history. 

1.  Baker,  H.  Barton.  History  of  the  English  Stage.  London, 

1904. 

2.  Borsa,  Mario.  The  English  Stage  of  To-day.  New  York,  1908. 

3.  Courtney,  W.  L.  Old  Saws  and  Modern  Instances,  London, 

1919. 

4.  Dickinson,  Thomas  H.  The  Contemporary  Drama  of  England. 

Eoston,  1917. 

5.  Filon,  Augustin.  The  English  Stage.  New  York,  1897* 

6.  Gilbert,  William  Schenk.  A Stage  Play.  New  York,  1916. 

7.  Hibbert,  H.  G.  Fifty  Years  of  a Londoner^  Life.  New  York, 

1916. 

A Playgoer fs  Memories.  London,  1930. 

8.  Maude,  Cyril.  The  Haymarket  Theatre.  London,  1903. 

9.  Schell ing,  Felix  E.  English  Drama.  New  York,  1914. 

10.  Scott,  Clement.  The  Drama  of  Yesterday  and  To-day.  2 vols. 
New  York,  1899. 


-77- 


C.  Biographies. 

1.  Bancroft,  M.  W.  and  Sir.  S.  B.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bancroft  on  and 

off  the  stage.  2 vole.  London,  1888. 

2.  Pemberton,  L.  Edgar.  The  Kendala.  New  York,  1900. 

D.  List  of  plays  - 

1.  Boucicault,  Dion.  Arrah-Na-Pogue . Chicago. 

3.  Byron,  H.  J.  Uncle . Philadelphia,  1900. 

3.  Galsworthy,  John.  Plays . Third  series.  New  York,  1914. 

4.  Grundy,  Sydney.1 

The  Arabian  Nights.  New  York. 

A Bunch  of  Violets.  New  York,  1901. 

The  Dean1 a Daughter.  London,  1891. 

A Fool^  Paradise.  New  York. 

The  Glass  of  Fashion.  New  York,  1898. 

The  Head  of  Romulus.  New  York,  1900. 

In  Honour  Bound.  New  York. 

The  Late  Mr.  Caatello.  New  York,  1901. 

A Little  Change.  New  York. 

A Marriage  of  Convenience.  New  York,  1900. 

A Pair  of  Spectacles.  New  York,  1898. 

The  Silver  Shield.  New  York,  1898. 

The  Snowball . New  Yor k . 

Sowing  the  Wind.  New  York,  1901. 

Sympathetic  Souls.  New  York,  1900. 

The  Vicar  of  Bray.  London,  1899. 

5.  Pinero,  Sir.  A.  W. 

The  Magistrate.  Boston,  1892. 

1 So  far  as  I have  been  able  to  ascertain,  these  are  the  only  plays 
___of_GTundy 1 s which  have  been  published. 


I 


-78- 


The  Profligate*  Boston,  1893. 

The  Second  Mrs.  Tanqueray.  Boston,  1894. 

6.  Robertson,  Thomas  William.  The  Principal  Dramatic  Works 

of  T.  W.  Robertson.  2 vol.  London,  1889. 

7.  Wilde,  Oscar.  The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest.  New  York. 
E.  Reviews  and  criticisms. 

1.  Archer,  William.  About  the  Theatre.  London,  1886. 

The  Theatrical  World,  for  1893-^97.  London. 

2.  Reviews  in  The  Athenaeum  of: 


The  Arabian  Nights. 

1887-2: 

649. 

Clito. 

1886-1: 

627. 

Dust . 

1881-2: 

123. 

A Fool's  Paradise. 

1889-1: 

323. 

The  Glass  of  Fashion 

.1883-2: 

346. 

Grundy's  Life. 

1914-2: 

60. 

A Little  Change. 

1872-2: 

90. 

Over  the  Garden  Wall 

.1881-2: 

123. 

Rachel . 

1883-1: 

517. 

Reading  for  the  Bar. 

1876-2: 

476. 

The  Silver  Shield. 

1885-1: 

673. 

The  Snowball. 

1879-1: 

195. 

A Wife's  Sacrifice. 

1886-1: 

725. 

3.  Grein,  J.  T.  Dramatic  Criticism,  1900-1901.  London,  1902. 

4.  Reviews  in  The  Saturday  Review  of: 


The  Black  Tulip 

87: 

579 

A Bunch  of  Violets. 

78: 

444 

Business  is  Business 

.99: 

733 

The  Dean's  Daughter. 

66: 

460 

-79- 


A Debt  of  Honour. 

88: 

297. 

The  Degenerates. 

87: 

325. 

A Fearful  Joy. 

105 

: 525 

Frocks  and  Frills. 

93: 

45. 

The  Glass  of  Fashion 

.55: 

340. 

The  Musketeers. 

86: 

630. 

The  New  Woman. 

78: 

263 . 

An  Old  Jew. 

78: 

68 . 

A Pair  of  Spectacles 

.93: 

45. 

The  Pompadour. 

65: 

407. 

The  Silver  Shield. 

59: 

685. 

Sowing  the  Wind. 

77: 

412. 

The  Union  Jack. 

66: 

109. 

5.  Shaw,  George  Bernard.  Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays. 

New  York,  1916. 

6.  Walkley,  A.  B.  Playhouse  Impressions.  London,  1902. 

F.  Magazine  articles  and  pamphlets. 

1.  Boucicault,  Dion.  nThe  Decline  of  the  Drama." 

The  North  American  Review,  125:  235. 

2.  Buchanan,  Robert.  "The  Modern  Drama  and  its  Minor  Critics? 

The  Contemporary  Review.  56:  908. 

3.  Dickens,  Charles.  "The  Difficulties  of  the  Serious  Drama." 

The  Theatre , 27:200.  • 

4.  Franc,  Miriam  A.  Ibsen  in  England.  Boston,  1919. 

5.  Fyfe,  H.  Hamilton.  "Mr.  Grundy  as  Cassandra." 

The  Theatre , 27:  203. 

6.  Grundy,  Sydney.  "Marching  to  Our  Doom. " 

The  Theatre , 27:  131  and  196. 


-80- 


The  Play  of  the  Future,  London,  1914. 

7.  Quilter,  Harry.  "The  Decline  of  the  Drama." 

The  Contemporary  Review,  51:  547. 

8.  Scott,  Clement.  "A  Critic  on  the  Criticized." 

The  Theatre,  13:  297. 

9.  Watson,  Malcolm.  "Mr.  Grundy  and  the  Critics." 

The  Theatre,  24:  161. 


